T 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


BY 


A.   B.   WAKNEK, 

AUTHOR  OF  "DOLLARS  AND  CENTS,"  "MR.  RUTHERFORD'S  CHILDREN,"  AC. 


'He  that  hath  light  within  his  own  clear  breast, 
May  sit  i'  the  centre  and  enjoy  bright  day.' — MILTON. 


NEW  YOKE  : 

D.    APPLETON    &    COMPANY, 
—  443   &    445      BROADWAY. 

LONDON  :  16  LITTLE  BRITAIN.' 

1866. 


ENTERED  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1855,  by 

D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  fo^he  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


Hf 


CHAP.  P^B 

I. — A  VOLUNTARY  FROM  THE  WIND,     *      .  .            .5 

II. — GOLD  STICK  IN  WATTING,     . 

HI. — LOVE  IN  THE  MARKET,  .  ....         17 

IY. — QUAKER  LILIES,  .  .  .  •  •  26 

Y. — THE  LAST  DAY  OF  DECEMBER,  .  .  .  .36 

VI. — THE  FIRST  OF  JANUARY,       ....  44 

VII— A  NIGHT  VIEW,            ".'           .            .  .            .52 

VIII. — Miss  MORSEL'S  SECOND  BREAKFAST,  .            .               63 

IX.— THE  BUTTERFLIES  OF  1812,  .  .  .  .  72 

X.— FROM  THE  WAR  HAWK,  ....  82 

XL — LITTLE  KINDNESSES,        .            .            .  .            .91 

XII.— CONFUSION,   .            .            .            .  ..           •             107 

XIII. — 'Ixro  THE  SHADOW — OUT  OF  THE  SUN,'  .  121 

XIV. — WHAT  SORT  OF  SUNSHINE  rr  WAS,  .  .  .  132 

XV.— LADY  HUME'S  BLUSH,     .            .            .  .            .144 

XVI. — THIS  GENTLEMAN'S  COUSIN,  SIR,       .  .            .             153 

XVII. — YANKEES  ABROAD,           .             .             .  .             .166 

XVIII. — PATRIOTIC  CANDLES,              .            .  .            .             174 

XIX. — THE  SECRET  SOCIETY  OF  MEDICINE,        .  .            .187 

XX.— WORK  BY  FIRELIGHT,  .  .  .  202 

XXI. — THE  MORNING'S  FRESH  BREATH,  .  .  .215 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAP.  PAGE 

XXII. — A  DAY  AT  THE  QUAKERAGE,            .  .            .      227 « 

XXIIL— OF  PEACE,          .....  239 

XXIV. — THE  BURDEN  OF  THE  SPRING  WINDS,  .            .       249 

XXV.— THE  OLD  THIRTEEN,       ....  258 

XXVI.— MEADOW-SWEET,       .            .            .  .            .270 

XXVII. — MOTHER  BAYSTATE  AND  HER  CHILDREN,  .             277 

XXVIIL— THE  STONE-CUTTER'S,            .            .  .            .287 

XXIX. — A  COUNTRY  OF  JOY,      ....  295 

XXX — ANOTHER  COUNTRY,               .  .            .       393 

XXXI. — INDIGENOUS  VEXATION,              .  .314 

XXXIL— SET  FREE,    .  ^                    .  .             .323 

XXXIII. — WHY  AN  APPLE  FALLS,              .  334 

XXXIV. — GREY  CLOUDS  AT  SUNDOWN,             .  .                   344 

XXXV.— MR.  PENN'S  POCKET,                                ,  352 

XXXVI.— Two  MEN  IN  THE  RAIN,      .            .  .            .860 

XXXVII.— THE  BAR-PLACE,             .            .            .  .             367 

XXXVIII— OVER  THE  BAR,         .            .            .  .             ,375 

XXXIX.— IN  PORT,            .            .  381 


MY   BROTHER'S   KEEPER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

When  I  fell  sick,  an'  very  sick, 
An'  very  sick,  just  like  to  dee, 
A  gentleman  o'  good  accpunt, 
He  cam'  on  purpose  to  visit  me. — Old  Ballad. 

IT  was  a  blustering  December  day,-r-no  snow  to  lay  the  dust 
or  to  allay  the  cold  with  its  bright  reflections ;  and  Winter 
himself  seemed  shivering,  despoiled  of  his  ermine  cloak. 

In  that  very  spirit  in  which  some  people  seek  out  the 
worst  side  of  human  nature,  the  wind  careered  about, — 
picked  up  all  the  dust  and  straws  it  could  find,  and  showered 
them  upon  the  heads  of  innocent  and  well  dressed  people. 
Not  exclusively,  to  be  sure, — the  wind  was  impartial  in  its 
bestowings ;  but  if  mischief  may  be  measured  by  the  trouble 
it  gives  and  the  effects  it  leaves  behind  it,  then  did  "  the 
upper  ten  "  get  more  than  their  share  that  day.  It  mattered 
little  to  the  chimney-sweeps  that  their  caps  were  stuck  with 
dry  leaves,  and  their  brown  blankets  flung  about  in  every 
fantastical  way — a  la  Don  and  a  la  Boreas, — the  carters  had 
no  veils  to  blow  off ;  and  if  now  and  then  a  rowdy's  hat 
flew  into  the  middle  of  the  street,  nobody  pitied  him  and 


6  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

the  hat  was  none  the  worse.  But  the  ladies  who  fought 
the  wind  at  every  corner,  and  came  upon  an  ambush  of 
full  grown  zephyrs  in  most  unexpected  places,  found  the 
enemy's  reinforcements  to  be  far  beyond  their  own ;  while 
hair  was  frizzed  after  every  fashion  not  approved ;  the 
colour  of  dark  hats  became  doubtful ;  and  if  white  ones  ever 
looked  white  again,  it  was  only  because  in  town  one  takes  a 
medium  standard  of  purity. 

In  the  midst  of  it  all  the  sky  was  sometimes  quite  clear, 
and  in  the  sunshine  the  driver  of  some  incoming  stage  loomed 
out  from  his  high  station,  and  hackney-coachmen  became 
visible.  Then  with  the  nesrt  gust  the  clouds  rushed  on,  as 
white  and  almost  as  light  as  snowflakes, — drifting,  meeting, 
covering  the  blue,  and  causing  an  instant  fall  in  the  ther 
mometer. 

Through  the  throng  of  men  and  things  a  gig  made  its 
way,  unmolested  but  not  unheeded.  Everybody  looks  at  a 
doctor's  gig,  though  everybody  has  seen  one  every  day  of  his 
life, — everybody  looks  and  wonders  with  a  strange  sort  of  in 
terest.  And  there  is  always  the  same  thing  to  be  seen.  On 
the  one  seat  a  remarkably  comfortable-looking  gentleman,  in 
his  multitude  of  greatcoats  and  wrappers  (no  doctor  ever 
looked  anything  but  comfortable) ;  while  the  other  seat  con 
tains  with  great  ease  a  comparatively  thin  individual,  hardly 
a  sketch  of  the  doctor,  and  usually  habited  in  a  cap,  mit 
tens,  and  a  red  worsted  comforter.  He  enjoys  moreover  a 
share  of  the  boot. 

And  it  is  no  wonder  that  everybody  looks ;  for  there  is  a 
strange  meeting  of  life  and  death  in  the  air  of  that  gig — its 
errand  and  itself  so  widely  different ! 

The  house  towards  which  this  one  went  had  been  already 
visited  by  the  wind  many  times  in  the  course  of  the  day ; 
and  there  it  had  demanded  admittance  as  noisily  as  at  any 


SIGHS.  7 

other  house  in  the  whole  street.  But  of  late  the  wind  had 
grown  respectful ;  and  though  just  at  the  time  when  the 
doctor  drove  up  Broadway  it  made  one  desperate  dash  at 
the  third  story  windows,  piling  dry  leaves  and  dust  on  every 
sash, — something  it  saw  there  seemed  to  calm  its  mood  ; — 
the  wind  not  only  went  down  sighing,  but  took  the  dry  leaves 
with  it. 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER    II. 

'  I  feel  it  not.'—'  Then  take  it  every  hour.' 

'  It  makes  ino  worse.' — '  Why  then  it  shows  its  power.' — CKABBB. 

{  THE  doctor's  come,  Miss  Rosalie,'  said  a  woman,  opening 
the  door  of  that  very  third  story  room.  *  Been  spry,  aint 
he  ?  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  his  horse  was  somethin'  more 
than  common.  But  he's  come,  anyway.  What's  to  be  done 
with  him  ? ' 

'  Show  him  up  here,  Martha.' 

And  as  the  door  closed  the  young  lady's  eyes  came 
back  to  the  bed  by  which  she  sat. 

A  child  lay  there,  in  that  drowsiness  which  is  of  fever, 
not  of  sleep  ;  to  which  the  hot  cheek  and  uneasy  posture 
alike  bore  witness.  She  was  not  undressed,  for  the  arm 
that  lay  above  her  head  displayed  «  short  merino  sleeve  at 
the  shoulder ;  and  at  a  very  "Small  distance  down  the  bed 
one  little  sho.e  of  childish  cut  moved  restlessly  from  under 
the  shawl  fringe  that  half  covered  it.  With  what  quick  and 
fluttering  action  the  fringe  about  her  throat  was  stirred,  the 
watcher  noticed  painfully  ;  and  softly  drew  it  away,  and  was 
rewarded  by  the  half  unclosed  eyes,  and  the  lips  that  met  to 
thank  her. 

1  You  have  been  asleep,'  Rosalie  said,  resting  her  own 
upon  them. 

*  I  don't  know,'  said  the  child  dreamily.  '  Who's  that 
coming  up-stairs  ? ' 


THE  DOCTOK'S  VISIT.  9 

{  Doctor  Buffem.'  And  even  as  she  spoke,  a  long-con 
tinued  and  portentous  creaking  of  boots  came  to  a  sudden 
stop  at  the  door, — Doctor  Buffem  having  paused  for  breath 
and  admittance.  The  last  was  the  easiest  obtained. 

*  What  the  mischief!     Miss  Rosalie,'  he  said  with  some 
impatience.      { Why  don't   you   emigrate   to    the    stars   at 
once  ?     Venus  would  suit  you  well  enough,  or  you  might 
get  a  situation  in  Mars,  you're  of  such  a  warlike  disposition. 
You  haven't  got  sense  enough  for  Pallas,  or  you'd  never  be 
caught  in  the  third  story  of  a  house  while  there  were  two 
below  it.' 

*  I  thought  it  would  be  quieter  up  here,'  Rosalie  said, 
with  a  face  that  was  grave  only  because  she  had  no  heart  to 
smile. 

'  Nonsense  ! '  said  the  doctor,  '  I  should  like  to  hear 
anybody  make  a  noise  in  this  house  for  once.  Quieter  !  At 
this  scale  of  elevation  '  the  music  of  the  spheres '  is  over 
powering.'  And  putting  his  hands  behind  him  the  doctor 
marched  off  to  the  window,  and  with  a  very  panting  enuncia 
tion  gave, — 

*  Yon  tall  anchoring  bark 

Diminish' d  to  a  cock, — her  cock  a  buoy. 

The  fishermen  that  walk  the  beach 

Appear  as  mice.' 

Very  particularly  comfortable  he  looked,  with  his  gold 
spectacles  and  gold-headed  cane;  and  a  head  of  his  own 
which  if  not  all  of  the  same  precious  metal,  had  at  least 
'golden  opinions.' — A  singular  contrast  to  the  figure  stand 
ing  by  the  bedside,  and  wishing  very  intently  that  his  gestic 
ulations  might  have  an  end. 

'  Well,  what's  the  matter  with  the  child  ?  '  he  said,  wheel 
ing  suddenly  round  as  if  her  existence  had  but  just  occurred 
to  him.     '  Out  of  breath  with  running  up  stairs,  eh  ?  ' 
1* 


10  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

And  throwing  down  the  shawl  Dr.  Buffem  took  the  little 
hand  in  his,  and  scientifically  applied  his  three  fingers  to  the 
wrist. 

'All  dressed, — ready  to  go  to  Albany,'  he  remarked. 
*  Let's  see  your  tongue.  S,  c,  a,  r,'  said  the  doctor,  looking 
round  at  Rosalie. 

She  gave  no  answer — that  he  could  see,  and  none  for  him 
to  hear.  One  quick  bound  of  the  heart — a  bright  spot  that 
came  and  as  quickly  left  her  cheek,  and  she  stood  there  as 
before,  the  hands  perhaps  holding  each  other  in  a  somewhat 
firmer  clasp. 

The  doctor  replaced  the  shawl,  straightened  himself  up, 
and  began  to  talk. 

'  Here's  a  fine  case,'  he  said  ;  l  but  I  guess  you  and  I  can 
manage  it.  What  sort  of  a  nurse  will  you  be,  hey  ?  ' 

1  The  best  that  I  can,  sir.' 

'  Hum — ah  ' — said  the  doctor,  with  a  recollective  glance 
at  Rosalie's  black  dress  which  sent  a  thrill  to  her  finger- 
ends, — the  wound  would  not  bear  even  that  slight  touch. 
1  Yes,  I  guess  you'll  do.  Got  a  thermometer  about  the 
house?' 

She  bowed  assentingly. 

'  Have  it  up  here,  then, — hang  it  anywhere  except  over 
the  fire  and  outside  the  window,  and  keep  it  just  at  70°, — 
no  hotter,  no  colder.  And  don't  let  in  more  than  half  the 
sunlight  at  once, — keep  the  rest  till  afternoon,'  said  Doctor 
Buffem,  walking  off  to  the  windows  and  closing  the  shutters. 
'  You're  so  close  to  the  sun  up  here,  Miss  Rosalie,  that 
he'll  put  out  the  eyes  of  well  people  if  you  give  him  a  chance. 
There — I'll  leave  you  one  crack  to  put  your  face  straight 
by, — important  duty  that  in  a  sick-room.  I'll  come  in 
again  by-and-by,  and  bring  you  some  powders, — came  off 
without  'em  this  morning.  And  get  her  undressed  and  put 


THE   SICK-ROOM.  11 

to  bed,'  he  added,  with  a  nod  at  the  sick  child.  {  She  won't 
want  to  take  much  exercise  to-day  nor  to-morrow.  Ever 
had  it  yourself  ? ' 

1  No  sir.' 

<  Well — no,  it's  not  well ;  but  it  can't  be  helped.  Take 
care  of  you  famously  if  you  do  get  it.' 

{  What  is  the  matter  with  me  ?  '  said  the  little  patient, 
now  speaking  for  the  first  time. 

'  Only  scarlet  fever,'  said  the  doctor, — c  that's  not  much. 
Worst  thing  is,  it  makes  one  look  like  a  lobster.' 

1  Shall  I  be  sick  a  great  while  ? '  said  the  child  again. 

'  Hum — '  said  the  doctor, — '  depends  entirely.  Not  if 
you  make  haste  and  get  well.  I'll  cure  you  up  in  no  time.' 

The  words  seemed  satisfactory  enough,  but  they  failed  to 
give  satisfaction.  Hulda  looked  away  from  him  to  her 
sister,  finding  comfort  in  her  look  and  smile,  grave  as  they 
both  were. 

The  doctor  fidgetted  about  the  room,  kicked  the  fire, 
came  back  to  ask  questions,  then  stamped  off  to  the  dooi*. 

'  Hark  you,  Miss  Rosalie,'  he  said,  <  don't  forget  why  I 
left  that  crack  in  the  window-shutter.  Good-bye — I'll  see 
you  again  this  evening.  And  keep  your  spirits  up, — there's 
nothing  in  life  to  put  'em  down.' 

But  Rosalie  thought  that  there  was  many  a  thing  in  life 
to  do  that  office  for  her  spirits  had  they  needed  it.  In  life  ! 
— With  that  thought  came  one  of  life's  great  antagonist,  and 
sitting  down  once  more  by  the  bed  she  took  her  little  sister 
on  her  lap,  and  began  very  tenderly  that  work  of  undressing 
which  the  doctor  had  recommended.  Was  there  anything 
in  death  to  depress  her  ? 

There  had  been, — the  tokens  of  his  power  were  not  less 
plain  upon  her  face  than  in  her  dress;  and  now — human 
nature  lived  still !  Before  those  two  sisters  could  be  sepa- 


12  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

rated  many  a  band  must  give  way  that  passed  about  them, 
unseen  in  this  world,  but  forming  to  the  eyes  of  angels  a 
golden  tissue  of  love  and  confidence.  Rosalie  felt  as  if  some 
hand  were  trying  its  strength  even  now.  There  was  some 
thing  in  these  quiet  preparations  for  suffering  that  tried  her 
extremely ;  and  to  brace  her  mind  for  possibilities,  without 
that  sudden  strength  which  an  emergency  gives,  was  very 
hard.  And  more  than  once  was  her  hand  passed  across  her 
face  with  that  feeling  of  which  Rutherford  wrote, — '  0  how 
sweet  it  is  for  a  sinner  to  put  his  weakness  in  Christ's 
strengthening  hand  ! — Weakness  can  speak  and  cry,  when 
we  have  not  a  tongue.' 

1  Do  you  think  I  shall  get  well,  Alie  ?  '  said  little  Hulda, 
looking  up  at  her. 

( I  trust  so,  my  darling.' 

Steady  and  sweet  the  voice  was  as  ever. 

'  Then  what  makes  you  look  sorrowful?  ' 

(  Because  you  look  sick.  Is  not  that  enough  to  make 
me  sorrowful  ?- ' 

'  No, — not  if  I'm  going  to  get  well  soon.'  And  as  if 
but  half  satisfied  with  her  sister's  face,  Hulda  repeated, — 
*  Isn't  he  a  good  doctor  ?  Won't  he  cure  me  ?  '* 

'  I  believe  he  is  a  very  good  docter ;  but  dear  Hulda  I 
trust  you  in  better  hands  than  his.' 

The  child  smiled  with  a  perfect  understanding  of  her 
words, — a  look  so  quick  and  bright,  that  Rosalie  was  silent 
until  her  little  charge  was  laid  in  the  bed.  Then  Hulda 
spoke. 

'  Say  that  to  me  again.' 

'  I  have  done  as  the  people  did  when  Jesus  was  in  the 
world,'  Rosalie  answered, — '  when  they  brought  their  sick 
and  laid  them  down  at  Jesus'  feet,  and  besought  him  that 
he  would  heal  them.' 


\ 
THE    PATIENT.  13 

'  I  wish  3rou  would  ask  him  again,'  said  the  child  wea 
rily  closing  her  eyes,  '  for  my  head  aches  very  much.' 

And  kneeling  down  with  the  little  hand  fast  in  hers, 
Rosalie  spoke  once  more  the  words  of  submission  and  en 
treaty, — that  strange  mingling  of  feeling  which  none  but  a 
Christian  can  either .  know  or  rest  in.  When  she  arose 
Hulda  was  asleep. 

Carefully  drawing  the  drapery  around  the  bed  corner,  so 
as  to  shield  the  child's  eyes  yet  more  from  the  light,  Rosalie 
began  to  busy  herself  in  arranging  the  room  for  its  new  use. 
Unnecessary  articles  were  put  out,  and  the  needful  brought 
in ;  and  the  closet  was  so  filled  and  arranged  that  the  rest  of 
the  house  should  be  but  little  called  upon.  At  first  Rosalie 
had  half  determined  that  none  of  the  servants  should  be 
allowed  to  enter  the  sick-room ;  but  Martha  Jumps,  light  of 
heart  as  of  foot,  having  declared  that  nothing  short  of  a  dis 
missal  from  the  house  should  keep  her  from  going  where  she 
pleased  in  it,  she  was  made  an  exception, — and  forthwith 
moved  about  with  a  great  access  of  dignity. 

4  There  aint  the  least  bit  of  squeak  leather  in  my  shoes, 
I  can  tell  you,'  said  Martha  in  a  whisper,  which  low  as  it 
was  penetrated  to  the  remotest  corner  of  the  room.  '  I  could 
walk  over  hatching  eggs  and  not  scare  the  chickens.  Tom 
Skiddy  says—What  next,  Miss  Rosalie  ?  ' 

1  That  little  thermometer  that  hangs  in  the  front  room 
down- stairs,  Martha — and  my  desk,  and  the  trivet.' 

*  Theometers,  hey,'   said   Martha, — '  that  aint  just  the 
sort  of  doctor's  stuff  I  took  when  I  was  a  child,  and  yet  I 
growed  up  as  fast  as  most  folks,  too.     What's  the  good  of 
theometcrs  ? ' 

But  she  brought  it. 

*  Has  Mr.   Thornton  come  home  ? '   was  Rosalie's  last 
question. 


14  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1  Not  he  ! '  said  Martha  emphatically.  '  The  idea !  And 
what  use,  after  all  ?  ' 

{  Ask  him  to  come  up  here  as  soon  as  he  does,  Martha.' 
And  then  she  sat  down  quietly  to  wait — that  hardest  of  all 
things  to  do. 

The  sun  was  not  long  in  finding  his  way  to  the  horizon, 
and  the  darkness  which  had  lain  hid  until  his  departure 
came  forth, — at  first  slowly  and  tarrying  in  corners,  then 
marching  with  swift  steps  over  the  whole  city.  The  crowd 
gave  way  before  her;  foosteps  were  few  and  distinct;  the 
hum  and  the  roar  were  past ;  and  every  carriage  now  had 
credit  for  just  its  own  noise  and  no  other.  The  doctor  had 
come  on  his  promised  visit,  and  had  left  medicine  'to  be 
taken  when  she  wakes  up;'  and  still  Rosalie  sat  there  alone 
in  the  dim  light  from  the  fire,  and  the  far  off  and  shielded 
candle.  The  winds  were  whispering  at  the  corners  of  the 
house,  and  anon  sighing  around  it, — now  raising  and  now 
depressing  their  voices,  but  never  entirely  silent.  Footsteps 
now  had  a  character  and  meaning,  coming  out  as  they  did 
from  the  deep  stillness  and  passing  into  other  stillness  as 
deep ;  and  as  an  oyster-man  went  slowly  through  the  street 

with  his  cart,  his  deep  monotonous   cry  of  *  Oys ters ! ' 

chimed  wildly  and  yet  soothingly  with  the  universal  tone  of 
all  things  else. 

And  so  passed  the  evening  until  a  loud  ring  sounded 
through  the  house,  and  the  new  comer  had  sprung  up  stairs 
and  entered  the  sick-room,  almost  before  the  startled  bell 
clapper  had  regained  its  equanimity. 

'  Hush ! '  was  Rosalie's  first  greeting. 

( I  thought  you  wanted  to  see  me,'  said  the  young  man, 
with  a  but  half-checked  step. 

1  Yes,  but  softly — you  will  wake  Hulda.' 

*  No  disparagement  to  your  eyes,  my  dear— which  are 


MR.    THORNTON.  15 

as  fine  as  can  be  no  doubt — but  I  also  must  lay  claim  to 
some  powers  of  vision.  Hulda  has  been  watching  me  ever 
since  I  came  into  the  room.  Now  what  is  your  pleasure  ? 
Martha  having  screamed  c  scarlet  fever  ! '  after  me  as  I  came 
up-stairs,  I  am  prepared  for  any  disclosures.  Is  that  really 
the  state  of  the  case  ?  ' 
''  So  Dr.  Buffem  says.' 

'  Well  I  suppose  he  is  at  least  on  a  par  with  his  brethren 
in  sagacity,'  said  Thornton,  sitting  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed.  '  How  do  you  feel,  young  one  ?  Hey-day  ! — don't 
you  want  to  be  kissed  ?  ' 

'  No,' said' Hulda,  who  had  turned  her  face  very  deci 
dedly  away.  '  You've  been  smoking.' 

1  What  a  little  goose  you  are  ! '  said  her  brother,  laugh 
ing  and  standing  up  again.  '  And  I  suppose  I  may  not 
even  shake  hands  with  you,  my  Lady  Squeamish?  ' 

But  the  lips  that  were  hastily  offered  him  showed  no  fear 
of  his,  and  the  hand  that  rested  on  his  shoulder  had  no 
touch  but  of  sisterly  affection — unless  a  little  want  of  com 
fort  mingled  therewith.  Thornton  returned  the  embrace 
very  heartily. 

'  You  are  a  dear  girl,'  he  said,  ( with  all  your  prejudices. 
Now  don't  trouble  yourself  about  this  child — I  daresay  she 
will  do  well  enough.  Would  it  be  any  comfort  to  you  if  I 
sat  up  with  her  to-night  ?  ' 

'  No,'  said  Rosalie,  with  a  smile  which  she  could  not  re 
press  at  the  very  idea ;  '  for  then  I  should  have  two  people 
to  take  care  of  instead  of  one.' 

(  What  are  you  going  to  give  her  ?  ' 

'  Something  I  have  here — I  don't  know  what ; — at  twelve 
o'clock,  Dr.  Buffern  said.' 

'  Well  I  will  come  in  then  and  see  how  you  get  on,  and 
give  her  the  medicine.' 


16  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

A  very  needless  offer,  but  it  was  not  refused ;  and  when 
little  Hulda  awoke  at  midnight  from  uneasy  dreams  to  the 
dazzling  candle,  it  was  to  see  the  medicine  spoon  in  the 
hands  of  Thornton,  and  that  plan  of  arrangements  sanc 
tioned  by  her  sister's  quiet  presence  and  smile.  But  it  was 
Rosalie's  arm  that  raised  her  up,  and  it  was  on  Rosalie's 
bosom  that  her  head  lay ;  and  if  Hulda  dreamed  of  angels 
that  night,  they  all  wore  Rosalie's  face. 


APPLE-BOASTING. 


17 


CHAPTER   III. 

Out  of  the  day  and  night, 

A  joy  has  taken  flight— SHELLEY. 

FOR  several  days  the  doctor's  visits  were  short  and  frequent; 
and  his  conversation  was  made  up  of  little  abrupt  questions 
and  ejaculations,  assurances  to  Hulda  that  if  he  killed  her  he 
would  have  her  buried,  and  earnest  requests  to  Rosalie  that 
she  would  furnish  him  with  another  patient.  His  first  step 
was  always  towards  the  window ;  and  having  admitted  a  few 
of  the  proscribed  sunbeams,  he  came  back  to  the  bed  and 
made  his  observations,  and  once  more  closed  the  shutter. 
Counsel  and  warning  about  antimony  and  apple-water  took 
up  what  further  time  the  doctor  saw  fit  to  bestow  in  this 
quarter  of  his  round  ;  and  then  the  room  was  left  to  the  un 
quiet  motions  of  the  sick  child,  and  the  gentle  and  tender 
ministering  of  her  nurse.  Sometimes  when  Hulda  was  more 
than  usually  at  ease,  her  eyes  followed  Rosalie  about  the 
room — watching  with  a  dreamy  pleasure  the  perfect  doing  of 
the  one  person  whom  she  thought  perfect, — noticing  the 
noiseless  placing  of  a  stick  of  wood  on  the  fire,  and  the 
laughing  answer  which  the  flames  gave  thereto;  and  some 
times  her  thoughts  were  held  fast  for  a  while,  as  the  white 
ashes  came  over  the  red  coals,  and  then  dropped  off,  or  the 
sap  went  singing  out  at  the  end  of  the  stick,  or  the  stick  it 
self  broke  and  fell  down  over  the  andirons.  But  her  eyes 


18  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

got  tired  with  the  light  and  went  after  Rosalie,  who  was 
perhaps  arranging  the  cups  and  napkin  on  the  little  stand; 
and  if  she  went  into  the  closet  Hulda  knew  she  had  gone  for 
an  apple,  and  watched  with  some  interest  while  the  apple 
was  made  fast  to  a  string,  and  that  again  to  the  mantel 
piece.  Then  she  noticed  the  desperate  twists  of  the  apple 
when  ii>  found  itself  at  liberty  to  twist ;  and  turning  her 
head  a  little  she  listened  to  hear  the  first  spurt  of  the  apple- 
juice,  and  watched  the  bright  drops  as  they  came  back  from 
their  tangent  arid  fell  into  the  little  silver  plate  that  awaited 
them ;  while  the  apple  having  waltzed  to  its  heart's  content, 
presented  a  steady  front  to  the  fire  and  rebelled  against 
being  roasted  all  round.  Often  Hulda  fell  asleep  here,  and 
then  awoke  in  time  to  see  the  refractory  apple,  all  brown 
and  shrivelled,  cut  loose  from  the  string  and  shut  up  in  a 
silver  pitcher  with  plenty  of  boiling  water.  At  this  point 
she  always  felt  thirsty,  and  was  quite  ready  for  the  tumbler 
by  the  time  it  came  to  her  bedside ;  but  though  Rosalie 
held  her  up,  and  managed  glass  and  spoon  to  admiration — 
tasted  the  apple-water  too,  lest  it  might  be  not  sweet  or  not 
cool  enough — Hulda  could  take  but  a  few  spoonfuls,  and 
was  glad  to  lie  down  again. 

Thornton's  visits  were  a  little  variety,  but  of  no  other 
use  ;  though  he- always  wore  a  look  as  if  he  knew  he  ought 
to  do  something,  and  hadn't  the  remotest  idea  what, — a  look 
which  his  Sister  understood  perfectly,  and  read  with  some 
times  a  smile  and  sometimes  a  sigh.  The  visits  were  al 
ways  short.  Hulda  could  bear  very  little  talking  or  read 
ing,  and  her  greatest  comfort  was  to  have  Rosalie's  face  on 
the  pillow  with  her  own,  and  to  hear  from  her  lips  a  verse  of 
a  hymn  or  from  the  Bible,  or  some  little  story  or  incident, 
or  a  few  of  her  own  sweet  and  quiet  words.  No  one  else 
entered  the  room,  except  to  bring  wood  and  water  and  Ro- 


THE   BEST   FRIEND.  19 

salie's  meals ;  and  on  these  occasions  Martha  Jumps  re 
strained  as  much  as-possible  her  own  love  of  talk,  and  said 
not  many  words  more  than  were  needful.  The  sounds  from 
the  street  became  to  little  Hulda's  ear  almost  what  they 
were  to  her  sister's  ;  and  in  the  still,  late  evening  she  lay  and 
listened  to  the  oyster-man,  with  a  strange  feeling  of  dreari 
ness  and  pleasure.  And  as  in  health,  so  in  sickness,  the 
morning  never  rose  and  the  evening  never  fell,  that  Rosalie 
did  not  kneel  by  her  little  sister,  and  pray  with  her  and  for 
her  in  just  such  words  as  she  could  understand.  Martha 
Jumps  stayed  her  foot  if  perchance  she  entered  the  room  at 
those  times  ;  and  Thornton  more  than  once  found  himself 
there,  and  wished  himself  away,  and  did  not  go. 

'  I  wonder  what  Dr.  Buffem  would  say  to  such  proceed 
ings  ! '  he  remarked  one  evening,  when  he  had  come  softly 
in  during  the  prayer  and  had  stood  watching  and  listening 
— too  proud  even  to  bend  his  head.  '  In  my  opinion  he 
would  call  them  feverish.  What  would  you  say,  Rosalie,  if 
I  should  report —  and  if  the  doctor  should  issue  contrary 
orders  ? ' 

1 1  should  hear  them,'  she  answered  with  a  smile  that 
told  very  plainly  what  more  she  would  do. 

'  And  by  what  token,  my  sage  sister,  do  you  prove  your 
self  wiser  than  your  physician  ?' 

1  0 — by  not '  thinking  of  men  above  what  is  written.' ' 

c  (  A  most  complete  lady  in  the  opinion  of  some  three  be 
side  herself ! ' '  said  Thornton.  '  Nevertheless  I  stand  to 
the  feverishness.' 

{  Btit  it  couldn't  make  me  feverish,'  said  Hulda,  putting 
in  her  word  with  a  voice  as  pale  and  thin  as  her  face.  *  I 
like  it — always.' 

'  Like  it,  you  pickaninny  !  You  don't  know  what  you 
like/ 


20  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1  It  would  be  strange,'  said  Rosalie  with  a  very  gentle 
look  at  Ilulda,  and  -then  turning  one  no  less  gentle  but  of 
somewhat  different  expression  upon  Thornton..  '  It  would 
be  strange  if  a  child  brought  up  as  she  has  been,  to  look 
upon  God  as  her  best  friend,  should  be  disturbed  or  wearied 
by  all  mention  of  his  name.' 

'  You  are  looking  marvellously  pretty  to-night,'  was 
Thornton's  cool  reply,  while  he  surveyed  his  sister  as  if  he 
had  not  the  remotest  idea  what  she  was  talking  about.  *  1 
only  hope  you  will  keep  on  these  wrappers  when  you  come 
down  stairs  again.  I  am  as  tired  of  seeing  you  in  that 
black  dress  as  a  man  can  be  of  seeing  you  at  all,  I  suppose. 
Here — don't  turn  off  with  that  face  ; — look  up  and  kiss  me 
before  I  go.  What  are  you  so  grave  about  ?  * 

She  gave  the  required  kiss  but  not  the  required  answer ; 
and  moving  away  to  the  fire-place  began  to  pile  together  the 
fallen  brands — arranging  and  altering,  as  if  in  no  haste  to 
have  the  task  finished. 

<  Well— what  ?  '  said  Thornton  following  her.  <  What 
have  I  said  that  was  so  dreadful  ?  Did  you  never  hear  that 

'  A  saint  in  crape  is  twice  a  saint  in  lawn  ? ' ' 

'  You  speak  as  if  you  did  not  know  why  I  wear  that 
black  dress,'  she  said  without  looking  at  him. 

'  I  don't  know  why  the  wearing  is  in  the  present  tense, 
I'm  sure.  Give  me  the  tongs — you  know  as  much  about 
fires  as  about  some  other  things.  I  say  it  is  a  fashion  I  can 
not  abide  ;  and  if  one  must  follow  popular  superstition  for 
a  time,  the  less  time  the  better.  Such  a  fire  ! — put  together 
as  if  the  world  went  by  suggestion  ! ' 

'The  world  does  not  go  by  pounding,'  said  R«salie/ 
— '  and  your  fire  is  going  up  chimney  in  the  shape  of  sparks. 
Hadn't  you  better  suggest  to  it  to  blaze  ? ' 


CONVALESCENCE.  21 

'  I  never  made  suggestions,'  said  he  throwing  down  the 
tongs.  '  What  I've  got  to  say  comes  out  head  first.  Now 
here  you  persist  in  shutting  yourself  up,  and  trying  to  be  as 
nun-like  as  possible.  I  wonder  you  submit  to  be  called 
Kosalie  !  Why  not  '  Sister  Ursula,'  or  some  such  sweet 
appellation  ?  ' 

'  I  should  not  like  to  undertake  any  more  Sisterhoods 
than  I  belong  to  at  present,'  said  Kosalie  with  a  slight 
smile. 

*  Well,  leave  off  that  dress,  will  you  ? '  said  Thornton. 
'  I  abominate  hoods  of  all  kinds  !  And  let  us  have  pleasant 
recollections  instead  of  disagreeable.' 

'  Disagreeable  ! '  She  stood  silent  and  still,  while  the 
flickering  light  of  the  fire  played  over  her  face,  and  mingled 
curiously  with  the  feelings  that  flitted  to  and  fro  there. 

1  Oh  Thornton  ! '  she  said  ;  l  would  you  forget  our 
mother  ? ' 

Her  hands  were  laid  upon  his  shoulders  now,  and  her 
eyes  looked  clear  and  full  into  his.  He  would  willingly 
have  freed  himself  from  that  light  touch  of  reproof  and 
sorrow,  yet  he  did  not  try ;  but  his  own  eyes  fell,  and  it 
was  with  a  very  changed  and  softened  expression  that  he 
answered, 

'  I  would  sometimes  forget  if  I  could  that  she  is  not 
here.' 

She  might  have  filled  that  mother's  place  for  the  way  in 
which  she  looked  at  him.  And  then  laying  her  head  on 
his  shoulder,  while  her  hands  were  clasped  about  his  neck, 
Kosalie  said, — 

1  If  you  could.  But  oh  my  dear  brother  !  never  forget 
where  she  is  !  I  would  I  could  keep  that  before  you  every 
minute  of  your  life.' ' 

If  the  wings  of  the  recording  angel  had  touched  him, 


22  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

and  the  book  been  laid  open  before  his  eyes,  Thornton  could 
not  have  felt  more  sure  that  a  new  prayer  for  him  was  re 
gistered  in  heaven.  And  yet  he  did  not  answer  according 
to  that  assurance — and  there  was  no  more  spoken  ;  for  when 
Rosalie  raised  her  head  it  was  to  bid  him  once  more  '  Good 
night,'  and  he  left  her  without  a  word. 

Hardly  had  little  Hulda  eaten  that  small  allowance  of 
tea  and  biscuit  which  she  called  her  breakfast,  next  morn 
ing,  before  the  doctor  made  his  appearance.  But  every 
thing  was  ready  for  him,  and  the  room  not  only  wore  a  com 
fortable  but  a  comforted  aspect ;  for  Rosalie's  face  was  a 
shade  less  anxious,  and  Hulda's  face  several  shades  more 
bright.  So  in  answer  to  the  doctor's  inquiries  she  told  him 
that  she  was  a  great  deal  better ;  though  indeed  she  had 
•been  'better'  every  time  he  had  come. 

'  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  were  to  be  quite  a  respecta 
ble  looking  child,  after  all,'  said  Dr.  Buffem,  bending  down 
to  impress  his  approbation  upon  Hulda's  forehead.  *  One 
of  these  days — if  you  keep  on.  Feel  most  like  an  oyster  or 
a  clam  this  morning  ? ' 

1 1  don't  know  how  they  feel,  sir,'  said  Hulda  laughing. 

'  Don't  laugh,'  said  the  doctor — *  that  will  never  do. 
Not  sick  yet,  Miss  Rosalie  ?  I  had  strong  hopes  you  would 
be  by  this  time.  She  looks  like  an  oyster,  don't  she,  Miss 
Tom  Thumb  ? ' 

{ No  indeed  ! '  said  Hulda,  quite  forgetting  her  own 
name  in  the  one  bestowed  on  her  sister  ;  '  not  a  bit ! ' 

'  You  think  not  ? '  said  the  doctor.  l  Well  I  could  swear 
there  had  been  pearls  in  the  vicinity — '  A  sea  of  melting 
pearl,  which  some  call  tears.'  Who's  been  eating  honey?' 
'0  Rosalie  had  it  .for  her  breakfast,'  said  Hulda. 

'  Hum — '  said  the  doctor — '  what  have  you  had  for  yours  ? 
Eaten  a  whole  beefsteak,  eh  ? ' 


A   VISITEK.  23 

*  May  I  have  some  beefsteak  ? '  said  Hulda. 

'  Why  no,'  said  Doctor  Buffem,  '  I  should  think  not. 
Wait  a  day  or  two,  Miss  Rosalie,  ajid  then  give  her  beef 
steak,  and  a  little  antimony,  a  soda  biscuit,  a  cup  of  chicken- 
broth,  a  buckwheat  cake,  a  little  salts  or  magnesia  or  castor 
oil — whichever  she  likes  best — an  oyster,  a  clam,  a  cup  of 
tea ;  keep  the  room  at  70°3  and  the  sunlight  out  of  doors, 
and  then  read  Cowper.' 

As  the  doctor  stamped  out  of  the  room,  Rosalie  sat 
down  by  Hulda,  and  putting  her  arms  round  her  laid  her 
own  head  on  the  pillow,  with  a  feeling  of  thankfulness  that 
was  too  weary  to  do  aught  but  rest.  And  rest  fell  like  the 
dew  upon  sun-touched  flowers.  But  before  six  quiet  minutes 
had  ticked  away,  the  door  opened  again  to  admit  Martha 
Jumps. 

1  Here's  a  to* do  !'  she  said.  'Here's  been  Mrs.  Arnet 
secluding  herself  down-stairs,  to  spring  upon  the  doctor  as 
he  come,  down,  for  to  find  out  whether  she  could  see  you 
with  safety,  as  she  says.  And  the  doctor  gave  it  to  her  well. 
He  said  there  wasn't  no  danger  for  nobody  but  you  ;  and  ho 
didn't  think  as  it  was  quite  safe,  lookn'  at  it  in  that  light, 
but  he  guessed  you  could  stand  it,  he  said.  So  now  the 
sooner  the  quicker.  Miss  Rosalie.  She  smells  dreadful  strong 
of  pickles.'  * 

With  this  forewarning  Rosalie  felt  no  surprise  that  her 
visitor's  salutation  kept  at  the  safe  distance  of  a  somewhat 
warding-off  bow  of  the  head  ;  and  as  she  herself  did  not  feel 
impelled  to  advance  nearer,  they  took  chairs  at  opposite  sides 
of  the  fire. 

'  Do  you  consider  Hulda  to  be  out  of  danger  ? '  began 
Mrs.  Arnet — who  looked  very  much  like  a  butterfly  deprived 
of  its  moral  expression. 

*  The  doctor  so  considers  her,'  said  a  sweet  voice  from 
the  other  side  of  the  fire-place. 


24  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

*  Well,  my  dear,  he  is  quite  right  in  endeavouring  to 
keep  up  your  spirits,  but  at  the  same  time  I  must  tell  you 
that  amendments  are  precarious  things.  Mrs.  Forsyth  lost 
a  child  with  scarlet  fever  only  last  week,  and  she  had  been 
supposed  to  be  out  of  danger  for  several  days.  It  is  a 
shocking  disease.'  And  Mrs.  Arnet  made  free  use  of  her 
aromatic  vinegar,  while  Rosalie's  heart  sought  better  help. 

'  When  is  Marion  coming  home  ?'  she  inquired  presently. 

'  Soon.'  said  Mrs.  Arnet.  '  I  have  considered  it  quite  a 
providential  thing  that  she  should  be  away  just  now,  for  I 
am  sure  nothing  on  earth  would  have  kept  her  from  coming 
to  see  you.' 

Rosalie  felt  sure  of  it,  too. 

'  She  is  so  very  imprudent,'  pursued  Mrs.  Arnet.  c  I 
believe  she  would  just  as  soon  as  not  sit  up  nights  with  any 
body  that  had  any  disease.  And  if  I  remonstrated,  she 
would  probably  tell  me  that  she  was  safer  there  than  doing 
nothing  at  home.  For  my  part,  I  think  one  owes  something 
to  one's  family.' 

1  Arid  nothing  to  the  family  of  one's  adopted  brother,' 
thought  Rosalie.  But  she  checked  the  thought,  and  answered 
quietly  that  family  duties  could  hardly  be  overrated. 

'  Which  reminds  me  that  I  am  keeping  you  from  yours,' 
said  the  lady.  '  How  is  ^Thornton  ?  He  never  comes  to  see 
us  now,  but  I  cannot  blame  him.  Give  him  my  best  love, 
my  dear.'  And  Mrs.  Arnet's  eyes  sought  her  handkerchief, 
and  her  handkerchief  sought  her  eyes, — but  that  was  proba 
bly  the  fault  of  the  aromatic  vinegar.  And  too  affected  for 
more  words,  the  lady  bent  her  head  graciously  and  left  the 
room,  giving  Rosalie  a  wide  berth  as  she  went.  In  another 
minute  Rosalie  was  up-stairs.  There  sat  Thornton,  reading 
the  newspaper  by  the  side  of  the  sleeping  Hulda. 

c  It  is  an  extraordinary  thing  to  see  me,  isn't  it  ?  '  gaid 
he  in  answer  to  Rosalie's  first  look  of  pleasant  surprise. 


LOVE   IN   KIE   MARKET.  25 

I  But  I  thought  you  had  gone  out. 

'  One  must  go  out  in  order  to  come  in,'  said  Thornton. 
'  If  you  will  promise  to  come  down  to  dinner  to-day,  and  let 
me  order  it  when  I  like,  I  will  come  home.' 

There  needed  no  answer  but  what  the  eyes  gave  him. 

'  You  look  sorrowful,  Alie,''  said  her  brother.  '  What 
has  that  woman  been  saying  to  you  ?  ' 

4  She  left  her  best  love  for  you,'  said  Rosalie. 

Thornton's  lip  curled  with  no  attempt  at  disguisement. 

I 1  hope  she  did  not  come  on  purpose  to  bring  it,'  he 
said.     *  If  her  love  were  in  the  market,  the  report  would  be, 
'  Supply  light,  and  the  market  dull.' ' 

*  She  says,'  continued  Rosalie,  *  that  if  Marion  had  been 
at  home  nothing  could  have  kept  her  from  coming  here.' 

Thornton's  eye  flashed,  but  he  only  said,  '  Of  course.' 

His  sister  looked  at  him,  and  then  at  the  fire,  and  then 
at  him  again. 

'  Oh  Thornton !  will  you  never  give  that  one  little 
promise  ?  for  her  sake — for  mine  ?  ' 

He  answered,  '  Never ! '  and  went. 


26  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

I  cannot  like  the  Quakers  (as  Desdemona  would  say)  "to  live  with  them."  I  am 
all  over  sophisticated — with  humours,  fancies,  craving  hourly  sympathy.  I  must 
have  books,  pictures,  theatres,  chit-chat,  scandal,  jokes,  ambiguities,  and  a  thousand 
whim-whams  which  their  simpler  taste  can  do  without— CHAKLES  LAMB. 

THE  doctor  entered  his  gig  and  drove  swiftly  up  Broad 
way,  until  the  sound  of  its  paving  stones  gave  place  to  the 
regular  beat  of  his  horse's  feet  upon  the  frozen  ground. 
Swiftly  on — past  houses  and  stores,  the  main  body  of  the 
city,  and  then  the  miserable  advanced  posts  of  its  outskirt 
buildings.  For-  the  most  part  the  doctor  took  a  vista-like 
view  between  the  two  brown  ears  of  his  horse;  but  now 
and  then  his  wig  made  a  half  revolution  towards  the  one 
adventurous  row  of  houses  that  marked  the  south  side  of 
Walker  Street,  or  when  the  shouts  of  the  skaters  on  the 
great  pond  at  the  corner  of  Canal,  suggested  various  ideas 
that  were  pleasant  only  in  a  professional  point  of  view. 
But  every  boy  there  skimmed  over  the  smooth  ice  in  utter 
defiance  of  the  doctor,  his  skill,  and  his  wig ;  and  his  good 
horse  Hippocrates,  unconscious  that  the  weight  he  carried  be 
hind  him  was  in  any  part  made  up  of  learning,  left  pond  and 
skaters  in  the  far  distance,  and  trotted  nimbly  on  through 
the  region  of  market  gardens,  orchards,  and  country  seats. 

As  near  as  might  be  to  one  of  these  the  doctor  checked 
his  horse, — or  I  should  rather  say,  as  near  as  he  chose  ;  for 


A   SHARP  FROST.  27 

though  the  iron  gate  was  too  far  from  the  dwelling  to  let 
even  its  closing  clang  be  heard,  the  many  tracks  on  the 
road  beyond  shewed  that  few  vehicles  stopped  where  the  gig 
had  done.  But  the  doctor  preferred  walking.  The  long 
ride  had  made  him  well  acquainted  with  the  state  of  the 
atmosphere,  and  Hippocrates  was  merrier  than  he  when 
they  reached  the  gate.  So  leaving  the  boy  in  the  red  com 
forter  to  do  the  best  he  could  under  the  circumstances,  Dr. 
Buffem  swung  to  the  gate,  and  strode  away  through  an 
avenue  of  tall  trees  to  the  house.  In  summer  they  would 
have  screened  him  from  both  sun  and  wind,  but  now  the 
leafless  branches  only  mocked  him  with  the  slight  shadows 
they  cast;  and  the  pitiless  breath  of  winter  swept  whistling 
through,  until  every  twig  shook  and  shivered  in  its  power. 
The  fallen  leaves  stuck  crisp  and  frozen  to  the  ground  ; 
and  if  there  were  any  at  large  they  had  retreated  into  cor 
ners,  and  there  lay  huddled  together. 

Dr.  Buffem  pursued  his  walk  and  the  wind  pursued  him, 
— the  doctor  in  extreme  dissatisfaction  at  the  pinched  face 
of  nature.  His  own  was  not  suffering  in  the  same  way,  for 
not  even  the  wind  could  get  hold  of  such  cheeks ;  but  still 
it  was  great  presumption  for  the  wind  to  try :  and  the  curi 
osity  which  would  fain  have  made  itself  acquainted  with  the 
lining  of  'his  coat  was  no  less  unwarrantable.  And  though 
the  sunshine  was  by  no  means  so  inquisitive,  the  doctor 
made  up  his  mind  that  too  much  reserve  was  just  as  bad  as 
too  little.  So  he  tramped  along,  pounding  the  frozen  ridges 
with  his  heavy  boots,  and  shaking  himself  from  time  to 
time  to  make  sure  that  the  .enemy  had  carried  nothing  but 
the  outworks.  Even  the  nicely  swept  porch,  and  the  roses 
that  were  trimmed  and  trained  beyond  the  wind's  power,  had 
not  one  approving  look.  Dr.  Buffem  made  for  the  knocker ; 
and  after  a  succession  of  raps  that  might  have  answered  for 


28  MY  BROTHEK'S  KEEPER. 

half  the  Peerage,  he  gave  an  echo  to  the  same  upon  the 
porch  floor,  while  his  eyes  sought  Hippocrates  in  the  dis 
tance. 

The  knocks  were  immediately  successful,  but  the  doctor's 
back  took  no  note  thereof. 

'  The  door  stands  open,  friend  Buffem,'  said  a  quiet 
voice.  c  Does  thee  require  aught?  The  wind  is  cold.' 

(  Require  ?  '  said  the  doctor  wheeling  round — 

* "  Rest  and  a  guide,  and  food  and  fire." — 

'  The  wind's  as  keen  as  nineteen  honed  razors, — no  sort 
of  a  wind  to  kiss  pretty  faces.  Where  are  the  men  1 ' 

'  James  Hoxton  as  thou  knowest  is  yet  ill,'  replied  the 
damsel,  *  and  Caleb  Williams  hath  gone  in  search  of  letters, 
— and  moreover  tendeth  not  the  door  at  any  time.' 

'  The  wiser  man  he,'  replied  the  doctor.  (  But  James 
Hoxton's  as  well  as  a  fish  out  of  water — wriggling  his  way 
back  at  full  speed.  What's  the  news  up  in  these  Northern 
regions  ? — how  long  since  the  mercury  shook  hands  with 
zero  ? ' 

'  Here  is  fire,'  said  the  damsel,  opening  a  side  door  into 
a  small  specimen  of  wax  work,  £  and  here  thou  mayest  leave 
thy  clogs.  When  thou.  art  warm  I  will  conduct  thee  up 
stairs.' 

'  Clogs  ?  ' — said  the  doctor.  '  Well — "  every  Quakeress 
is  a  lily," — but  even  lilies  come  out  of  what  may  be  called 
mud's  raw  material.  How  thee  must  love  John  Frost, 
friend  Rachel.  Now  then — "  Lead  on  !— I'll  follow  thee  ! '" 

Along  the  wide  hall  and  up  the  broad  easy  steps  of  the 
old  staircase,  went  Rachel  in  her  sad-coloured  gown  and 
white  cap, — fit  genius  to  preside  over  so  spotless  a  domain ; 
and  after  her  the  doctor,  who  with  some  difficulty  made  her 
tripping  steps  the  measure  of  his  own.  Trip,  trip — a  soft 


A    SUMMER    FACE.  29 

stuff-rustle  and  a  slight  key -jingle  their  proper  accompani 
ment  ;  while  the  doctor's  heavy  tread  came  like  some 
strange  instrument,  played  out  of  time. 

Rachel  crossed  the  upper  hall,  and  opening  the  door 
into  a  room  that  stretched  along  that  end  of  the  house,  she 
stepped  back  and  left  the  doctor  to  enter.  The  room  looked 
like  the  head-quarters  of  the  Fairy  Order.  Like  snow- 
wreaths  hung  the  curtains — like  patches  of  snow  lay  napkin 
and  toilet  cover  and  bed-quilt.  The  furniture  was  made  of 
self-adjusting  materials, — the  table-cloth  probably  shook 
itself.  More  polished  than  '  our  best  society '  were  the  and 
irons,  and  at  the  same  time  more  reflecting;  while  the  ashes, 
too  well  instructed  to  fly  about  the  room  or  fall  on  the 
hearth,  followed  the  soot  up  chimney.  Too  dry  to  sing,  the 
wood  burned  noiselessly ;  only  the  dancing  flames  shewed 
some  vagaries,  and  declared  themselves  beyond  the  sphere 
of  Quakerdom. 

In  a  quiet  tete-a-tete  with  the  fire  Dr.  Buffem  found  his 
patient ;  or  rather  he  found  her  first  in  one  of  the  reflecting 
andirons,  which  shewed  the  face  and  figure  that  her  high- 
backed  chair  concealed. 

Her  cap,  her  grey  dress,  the  smooth  kerchief  that  lay 
folded  across  a  breast  as  unruffled,  proclaimed  her  to  be  of 
Rachel's  order  ;  but  the  pure  sweetness  of  her  face,  the 
gravity  without  a  touch  of  moroseness,  spoke  a  yet  more 
honourable  distinction  ; — a  heart  unspotted  from  the  world  ; 
a  faith  that  having  laid  hold  on  eternal  life,  took  all  in  the 
life  that  now  is  with  meek  tranquillity.  If  there  was  one 
ruling  expression  in  her  face,  it  was  of  charity — "  which 
suffereth  long,  and  is  kind  ;  thinketh  no  evil ;  is  not  easily 
provoked ;  beareth  all  things,  believeth  all  things,  hopeth  all 
things,  endureth  all  things."  And  as  at  the  advancing  step 
she  half  arose,  and  turned  to  greet  her  visitor.  Dr.  Buffem 
thought  he  had  rarely  seen  a  finer  face. 


30  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

(  Friend  Raynor,  how  art  thou  1  '  he  said,  flourishing  out 
both  hands.  '  "  Do  you  think  rne  a  swallow,  an  art ow,  or  a 
bullet  ?  Have  I,  in  my  poor  and  cold  motion,  the  expedi 
tion  of  thought  ?  I  speeded  hither  with  the  very  extremest 
inch  of  possibility" — unless  indeed  I  had  run  over  Rachel.' 

'  Friend  Buffem,  thou  art  welcome,'  said  the  quakeress 
with  a  smile.  '  I  trust  thy  haste  hath  not  put  thee  to  incon 
venience.  I  scarce  expected  thee  to-day, — perhaps,  said  I, 
he  will  be  better  pleased  to  come  to-morrow.' 

1  No  indeed,'  said  the  doctor, — '  though  to-morrow  had 
been  June,  while  this  is  without  doubt  December.' 

'  The  cold  hath  not  then  abated  ?  ' 

1  Not  the  first  fraction  of  a  degree,'  said  the  doctor.  l  It 
is  the  most  confoundedly  sharp  day  we've  had  this  winter.' 

1  Thee  must  indeed  feel  it  severely  if  thee  indulges  in 
such  expressions,'  said  the  quakeress  gravely.  '  I  have 
always  found,  friend  Buffem,  that  inward  chafing  doeth  far 
less  good  than  that  which  is  without.' 

'  Ay,  so  you  say,'  replied  the  doctor,  as  he  toasted  his 
hands  impartially  over  the  fire,  '  but  I  like  a  little  of  both. 
Men's  hair  won't  stay  brushed,  do  what  you  will,  and  it 
won't  be  the  real  thing  if  you  try  to  make  it.  No,  no — get 
your  temper  up  to  boiling  point  and  then  fizz  round  a  little, 
— my  word  for  it  you'll  get  warm.' 

1  Warm  after  the  manner  which  savoureth  of  cold  heart- 
edness.' 

'  Not  a  bit  of  it ! '  said  the  doctor,  who  was  putting 
himself  through  all  his  paces  ;  '  cold  is  flat,  and  never 
savoured  of  anything.  You  let  the  water  run  in  upon  the 
fire  and  it'll  put  it  out — therefore  heat  up  your  fire  and  blow 
up  the  water.  Nothing  like  letting  off  steam  once  in  a 
while.  Whizz  ! — Puff ! — there  you  are,  reduced  to  cold 
water  again;  and  nobody  killed,  either.' 


HOW    TO   ATTAIN    TRANQUILLITY.  31 

c  Nor  hurt  ?  '  said  the  quakeress  smiling.  '  And  thee 
would  got  up  steam  for  the  very  purpose  of  letting  it  off,  to 
no  end?  ' 

*  Well,'  said  the  doctor,  '  I  should  hope  it  would  have  an 
end,  certainly.     As  to  the  rest,  most  people  keep  it  on  hand 
— blow  it  off  too, — saves  an  immense  number  of  boilers.' 

'  It  maketh  a  most  uncomfortable  noise  the  while,'  said 
the  quakeress, — (  and  hath  not  much  sympathy  with  the 
command,  "  Study  to  be  quiet."  ' 

'  But  reflect  upon  the  terrors  of  an  explosion  !  '  said  the 
doctor.  '  You  don't  suppose  the  same  lesson  is  set  for  every 
body.  It's  not  in  all  human  nature  to  be  as  patient  as  you 
are,  my  dear  lady.' 

*  Nay,   it   lieth   not-    in    nature    at   all,'    she   answered 
earnestly,  '  and  yet  it  may  be  attained.     "  Great  peace  have 
they  that  love  thy  law,  and  nothing  shall  offend  them."    But 
who  requireth  thy  care  at  Thornton  Clyde's  ?     I  hear  thou 
hast  been  much  there  of  late.' 

1  Ah  ! '  said  the  doctor — '  who  told  you  so  ?  "  Now 
when  I  ope  my  lips  let  no  dog  bark." ' 

'  Rachel  must  needs  go  into  town  yesterday,'  answered 
the  quakeress,  'and  not  only  did  the  purse  find  work,  but  the 
tongue.  Thee  knows  young  girls  will  be  gossipping.  But 
what  aileth  them  there  ?  and  who  ?  not  Rosalie  ? ' 

'  No,'  said  the  doctor, — c  Hulda.     Only  scarlet  fever.' 

'  Poor  child  !  poor  dear  child  ! '  said  the  quakeress  anx 
iously.  '  And  is  she  very  ill  ?  does  thee  think,  speaking 
after  the  manner  of  men,  that  there  is  much  danger  ?' 

'  Not  much ' — said  the  doctor, — '  speaking,  as  you  say, 
after  the  manner  of  men.  Speaking  after  the  manner  of 
women,  she  has  been  wonderfully  sick.  But  she's  better 
now.' 

'  It  rejoiceth  my  heart  to  hear  thee  say  that.      Poor 


32  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

child  ! — and  her  dear  sister  !     Sorely  tried  she  hath  already 
been,  and  hath  borne  the  trial  like  a  true  child  of  God.' 

*  Sterling  stuff,'  said  the  doctor.     c  But  the  child  is  bet 
ter,  so  you  may  put  all  thoughts  of  a  visit  out  of  your  head. 
I  see  what  you're  meditating.     You  can't  be  let  out  of  the 
house  yet.     I  want  to  set  you  up  before  our  travellers  get 
home.' 

A  moment's  smile  was  followed  by  a  look  of  deep  grief 
and  anxiety. 

1  Alas  this  war  ! — when  will  they  get  home  ? '  she  said 
clasping  her  hands. 

*  See   here,'   said   the   doctor, — don't   you   get   up   any 
steam ;  it  wouldn't  suit  your  constitution.     What's  the  war 
to  do  ? — I  never  heard  in  my  life  that  a  declaration  of  war 
kept  old  Boreas  in  order.     Let  them  set  their  sails, — he'll 
give  chase.     What 's  the  date  of  their  last  letter  ? ' 

1  Far,  far  back ;  and  doubtless  Henry  hath  written  since, 
but  the  letter  hath  failed  to  come.  He  pineth  to  be  at  home 
now.' 

'  I'll  warrant  him  ! '  said  the  doctor, — c  and  for  a  brush 
with  the  English,  too.' 

'  Nay,  he  saith  only  that  all  should  be  in  their  own  coun 
try  at  such  a  time,'  answered  the  quakeress  deprecatingly. 

£  Ay — that's  it.  Why  didn't  he  come  last  summer,  when 
the  war  broke  out  ? — travelling  is  deucedly  inconvenient 
now-a-days.' 

*  Thou  speakest  unadvisedly,  friend.     However  he  would 
have  come  then,  doubtless,  only  Penn — that  silly  boy — be 
ing  ill,  it  was  but  brotherly  kindness  not  to  leave  him.' 

'  Got  himself  stabbed  in  some  brawl  with  those  German 
students,  didn't  he  ? '  said  the  doctor.  '  I  recollect.  But 
he  ought  to  be  cured  by  this  time,  if  there's  a  respectable 
surgeon  on  the  Continent.' 


LETTERS  OF   MARQUE.  33 

'  Henry  wrote  that  he  was  better,'  said  the  quakeress ; 
'  and  if  nought  hindered  they  were  to  take  passage  in  the 
War  Hawk  on  the  first  day  of  this  month.' 

'  Well  she's  not  in  yet,'  said  Dr.  Buffem,  'but  the  United 
States  is.  I  suppose  you've  read  the  papers  this  morning  ? 

1  Nay,'  she  answered. 

'  Glorious  victory  ! '  said  the  doctor  rubbing  his  hands. 
'  Decatur  has  taken  the  Macedonian,  forty-nine  guns,  and 
but  twelve  men  killed  and  wounded.' 

1  And  in  the  other  vessel  ? '  said  Mrs.  Raynor. 

'  A  hundred  or  so — and  two  hundred  prisoners.  Glo 
rious,  isn't  it  ? ' 

The  satisfaction  on  his  face  was  so  far  from  being  re 
flected,  that  Doctor  Buffem  held  up  both  hands,  exclaiming, 

'  A  traitor,  as  I  am  alive  ! ' 

'  Truly  friend,'  replied  the  quakeress  calmly,  '  I  trust 
thy  life  is  much  surer  than  thy  assertion.  But  who  can 
glory  or  who  can  joy  in  such  bloody  doings  ! — They  seem 
not  much  in  the  spirit  of  "-Love  your  enemies."  ' 

'  Mustn't  love  your  enemies  so  well  as  to  let  'em  eat  you 
up,  Mrs.  Raynor,'  said  the  doctor — {  no  kindness  in  that, — 
and  for  the  rest  Decatur's  as  kind  hearted  a  man  as  ever 
lived.  Now  here  for  instance — when  Capt.  Garden  came  on 
board  the  United  States  to  give  up  his  sword,  Decatur  told 
him  he  could  not  take  the  sword  of  a  man  who  had  defended 
his  ship  so  well,  but  he  would  receive  his  hand.  Isn't  that 
a  Christian  spirit  ? ' 

1  It  seemeth  like  it — though  truly  forgiveness  should  be 
easy  to  the  conqueror.  But  the  War  Hawk  claimeth  not 
to  be  one  of  these  fighting  vessels  ? ' 

I  guess  she  carries  Letters  of  Marque,'  said  the  doctor 
with  a  satisfied  air. 

2* 


34  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  And  may  she  tlien  even  capture  other  ships  on  her  pas 
sage  ?' 

'  Capture  them  ?  of  course  she  may — if  they  don't  cap 
ture  her, — that's  the  trade  our  captains  are  driving  just 
now.  Better  come  into  port  with  a  prize  or  two  than  be 
carried  off  by  an  H.  M.  cruiser.' 

'  Danger  either  way  !  I  would  I  had  forborne  the  joy 
of  his  presence  and  bade  him  stay  there  ! ' 

She  rested  her  head  on  her  hands,  but  the  heaving  of 
her  breast  alone  told  of  the  struggle  within. 

'  Come,  come,'  said  Dr.  Buffem,  in  some  doubt  how  to 
treat  a  case  so  far  beyond  the  range  of  his  professional  skill, 
— '  he  wouldn't  have  staid  there  if  you  had  bade  him.  And 
what  then  ? — many  a  pretty  man  has  smelt  powder*  without 
getting  singed.  The  chances  are  twenty  to  one  of  his  get 
ting  home  in  most  inglorious  safety.' 

The  quakeress  looked  up,  and  her  face  was  very  calm — 
not  even  her  lip. trembled. 

'  Nay,  friend  Buffem,'  she  said,  '  not  so  !  There  is 
neither  chance  for  nor  chance  against ;  but  the  will  of  God. 
And  truly  I  know  that  he  ruleth  the  winds  and  the  waves ; 
and  holdeth  the  hearts  of  kings  and  doubtless  the  hearts  of 
seamen  too — howbeit  the  flesh  is  weak,  and  faith  sometimes 
faileth.  My  all  is  in  his  hands, — I  will  not  fear  to  leave  it 
there.' 

'  That's  right,  that's  right,'  said  the  doctor,  assenting  to 
her  means  of  comfort  as  probably  the  best  that  could  be 
had  for  her  under  the  circumstances  ;  '  keep  your  spirits  up 
always,  and  I'll  look  out  for  the  War  Hawk  and  bring  you 
the  first  news  of  her.  But  I  want  you  to  get  stronger  be 
fore  she  comes — there'll  be  one  pair  of  good  keen  eyes  on 
board.' 

The  mother's  own  filled  at  his  words,  but  she  made  no 
answer. 


THE    BEST    CURE.  35 

'  I  guess  they'll  be  the  best  cure,  after  all,'  the  doctor 
added.  l  Nevertheless  I  think  I  shall  send  you  away  for  a 
month,  not  for  your  sake  at  all,  you  know — for  his.  What 
do  you  say  ? ' 

'  I  will  go  whither  thou  wilt  send  me  for  that  cause. 
But  he  is  so  well,  they  say,  and  so  joyful  with  the  thought 
of  returning.' 

'  Hasn't  heard  enough  from  home  to  content  him,  I 
doubt,'  said  the  doctor. 

'  I  have  written  even  more  than  seemed  needful,'  she 
answered  smiling,  *  but  he  hath  strangely  missed  of  some  of 
my  letters.' 

'  Well  then  it's  all  settled,'  said  the  doctor.  «  You're  to 
go  South*,  and  I'm  to  look  out  for  the  War  Hawk,  and  she's 
to  come  just  when  she  likes.  Friend  Raynor  I  wish  thee 
good  morning.' 


36  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER, 


CHAPTER   V. 

The  yule-clog  sparkled  keen  with  frost, 

No  wing  of  wind  the  region  swept, 

But  over  all  things  brooding  slept 
The  quiet  sense  of  something  lost.— TENNYSON. 

THE  setting  sun  shone  fairly  upon  the  last  day  of  Decem 
ber  ;  and  as  his  disk  sank  lower  and  lower  behind  the  city, 
chimneys  and  dormant  windows  and  now  and  then  a  tower 
ing  story,  glowed  in  the  clear  red  light  with  singular  bright 
ness.  The  sadder  for  that.  So  very  fair,  and  yet  the 
end  ! — the  end  of  the  day,  the  end  of  the  year.  The  last 
time  the  sun  might  shine  upon  1812  ! — Cold  and  still  the 
night  set  in ;  and  the  quiet  stars  in  whose  watch  the  new 
year  should  begin  its  reign,  looked  down  with  bright  eyes 
upon  the  subsiding  city  and  its  kindling  lights. 

Rosalie  stood  watching  it  all, — watching  the  people  as 
they  hurried  home,  the  parlour  windows  lit  up,  the  bright 
doorways  that  appeared  and  vanished,  the  happy  groups 
gathering  at  tea.  She  could  see  them  across  the  way, — 
those  fair  shadows,  young  and  old,  moving  about  in  the 
bright  glow.  And  in  the  next  house — and  the  next, — up 
and  down,  as  far  as  she  could  see  ; — it  was  one  line  of  tele 
graphing.  Nor  did  the  few  windows  where  only  firelight 
shone,  flickering  like  the  joy  of  human  life,  look  less  cheer 
ful.  She  remembered  the  long  talks,  the  sweet  counsel 


SORROW   AND    SIGHING   SHALL   FLEE   AWAY.         37 

given  in  that  dusky  light, — the  eyes  that  had  looked  down 
upon  her  like  heaven's  own  stars ;  but  now  the  room  was 
not  darker  than  her  heart. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  she  had  stood  there  watching 
for  her  brother, — she  had  looked  till  each  frequenter  of  that 
street  was  perfectly  well  known.  It  was  not  the  first  time 
she  had  watched  in  sadness.  But  she  remembered  that 
there  had  been  a  time  when  she  was  never  suffered  to 
watch  there  long — when  a  gentle  hand  would  be  passed 
round  her  waist,  and  she  be  drawn  away  from  the  window, 
with, 

4  We  may  not  overrule  these  things,  daughter — we  must 
not  be  children  in  whom  is  no  faith.  Come  and  let  us  talk 
of  the  time  when  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  our 
eyes.' 

Pressing  her  hand  upon  her  heart,  Rosalie  turned  hasti 
ly  from  the  window. 

The  fire  gleamed  faintly  upon  Hulda's  little  face  and 
figure,  stretched  upon  the  sofa  in  the  perfect  rest  of  child 
hood  ;  and  above  that  one  bright  spot  in  the  room,  hung  a' 
picture  that  gave  depth  to  all  the  shadows.  Rosalie  ven 
tured  but  one  glance  at  it,  and  kneeling  down  at  her  moth 
er's  chair,  she  laid  her  face  on  the  cushion  with  a  bitter 
weariness  of  heart  that  found  poor  relief  in  tears.  Yet  they 
were  a  relief;  and  after  a  while  her  mind  lay  quiet  upon 
those  words,  "  Grod  is  our  refuge  and  strength  :  a  very 
present  help  in  trouble." 

A  soft  touch  on  her  neck  aroused  her,  and  with  an  al 
most  bewildered  start  Rosalie  looked  up ;  but  it  was  'neither 
angel  nor  spirit ' — it  was  only  little  Hulda. 

*  Are  you  sick,  Alie  ?  '  asked  the  child. 

*  No  love.     Are  you  awake  ?  ' 

*  0  yeg,'  said  Hulda,  laughing  and  wrapping  her  arms 


38  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

round  Rosalie's  neck, — £  don't  that  feel  awake  ?     Aren't  we 
going  to  have  tea,  Alie  ?  ' 

'  I  shall  wait  for  Thornton,  but  you  shall  have  yours, 
dear  ; '  and  getting  up  with  the  dhild  in  her  arms,  Rosalie 
carried  her  into  the  tea-room,  and  fell  back  into  her  own 
quiet  performance  of  duties. 

Hulda  was  in  quite  high  spirits  for  her,  and  eat  her  sup 
per  on  Rosalie's  lap  with  great  relish, — a  relish  partly  de 
rived  from  returning  health,  and  partly  from  this  first  coming 
down-stairs. 

'  I  wonder  if  Thornton  hasn't  gone  to  buy  me  a  present ! ' 
she  said.  *  You  know  it's  Newyear's  eve,  Rosalie,  and  you 
must  hang  up  my  stocking.' 

1  There  is  no  fear  of  my  forgetting  that,'  said  her  sister. 

1  No,  for  you  never  forget  anything.  But  I  wonder 
what'll  be  in  it !  Well,  we'll  see.' 

'  Yes,  we  shall  see.  So  put  your  arms  round  my  neck, 
Hulda,  and  I  will  carry  you  up-stairs.  It  is  pleasanter 
there  than  here  to-night.' 

But  the  musing  fit  was  strong  upon  her ;  and  later  in 
the  evening,  when  her  little  charge  was  asleep,  Rosalie's 
mind  could  do  nothing  but  wander  in  a  wilderness  of  recol 
lections.  Not  a  wilderness  in  one  sense.-1— how  fresh,  how 
dear,  they  were  ! — and  yet  too  much  like  a  sweet  land 
breeze  from  the  coast  that  one  has  left. 

Rosalie  took  out  the  stocking  as  Hulda  had  desired,  and 
put  together  on  a  chair  at  the  head  of  the  bed  all  the  va 
rious  trifles  that  were  to  fill  it ;  but  when  she  had  placed 
herself  on  a  low  seat  before  them,  the  stocking  hung  unre 
garded  from  her  hand,  and  her  thoughts  flew  away.  There 
seemed  a  long  vista  opened  before  her ;  and  furthest  of  all 
its  objects — yet  clear,  distinct,  even  more  so  than  those 
near  by — she  saw  herself  as  a  little  child ;  before  her  eye 


NEW-YEAR'S  EVE.  39 

bad  learned  to  know  the  evil  that  is  in  the  world,  or  her 
heart  had  grown  up  to  feel  it.  What  a  stream  of  sunshine 
lay  there  ! — 

"  The  sunshine  and  the  merriment, 
"  The  unsought,  evergreen  content, 

"  Of  that  never  cold  time, 
"  The  joy,  that,  like  a  clear  hreeze,  went 
"  Through  and  through  the  old  time !  " 

And  even  in  later  times,  where  the  shadow  of  life  had 
begun  to  fall,  the  picture  seemed  hardly  less  fair.  For  about 
both,  the  child  and  the  half-grown  girl,  had  been  wrapped 
the  same  atmosphere  of  love  and  guidance, — through  which 
sweet  medium  all  the  breaths  of  sorrow  and  pain  came  soft 
ened.  Even  when  they  -came  from  bitter  causes — her 
father's  death,  her  brother's  gradual  estrangement  from 
home — his  voluntary  withdrawing  from  the  hand  in  hand 
intercourse  in  which  they  had  grown  up, — even  then  there 
was  sunshine  at  her  mother's  side — sunshine  for  her, — she 
had  never  failed  to  find  it.  But  it  reached  not  to  the  dark 
foreground ;  where  scorched  flowers  and  blackened  stumps 
showed  that  Time  had  claimed  the  land,  and  had  cleared  it. 

But  little  more  than  one  year  ago,  Rosalie  was  nerving 
herself  for  the  bitter  future.  It  had  come,  and  she  had  met 
it, — had  lived  through  those  first  few  months  of  grief  not  to 
be  told  nor  thought  of.  But  though  her  heart  was  quieter 
now,  there  were  times  which  seemed  to  surpass  all  she  had 
ever  known  for  intensity  of  sorrow, — when  her  very  life 
seemed  to  die  within  her,  and  desire  to  live  and  power  to 
do  could  not  be  found, — ^when  her  mind  dwelt  with  intense 
longing  on  the  words,  "  I  shall  go  to  her,  but  she  shall  not 
return  to  me."  Yet  even  then  God  had  not  forgotten  his 
child,  and  in  the  breaking  light  her  mind  rested  submissive 
ly  upon  this  other  text — "  All  the  days  of  my  appointed 


40  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

time  will  I  wait,  till  my  change  come."  And  as  the  last 
storm-clouds  roll  away,  and  are  gilt  with  the  western  light, 
so  upon  all  her  sorrow  fell  this  assurance, — "  Blessed  are  the 
dead  that  die  in  the  Lord — they  rest  from  their  labours  and 
their  works  do  follow  them." 

"  I  do  set  my  bow  in  the  cloud,  and  it  phail  be  for  a 
token  of  the  covenant  between  me  and  the  earth !  ". 

Rosalie  had  dwelt  long  upon  the  words,  till  all  thought 
for  herself  was  lost  in  joy  for  her  mother's  safety  and  assured 
blessedness,  far  from  the  weariness  that  pressed  upon  her 
own  heart ;  and  though  the  remembrance  brought  back  one 
or  two  tears,  they  were  quickly  wiped  away,  and  her  whole 
soul  was  poured  out  in  the  prayer  that  she  might  one  day 
( go  to  her,' — and  not  only  she,  but  the  two  dear  ones  yet 
left  to  her*  on  earth.  The  desire  could  not  be  spoken — it 
was  the  very  uplifting  of  the  heart, — for  them,  for  herself: 
and  that  she  might  faithfully  perform  the  work  that  was  put 
into  her  hands. 

With  a  look  where  sorrow  and  submission  and  earnest 
purpose  and  endeavour,  were  like  the  pencilling  upon  a  flower 
of  most  delicate  growth  and  substance,  Rosalie  raised  her 
head,  and  saw  Thornton  before  her:  leaning  against  the 
bedpost  with  his  arms  folded,  and  Eyeing  her  gravely  and 
considerately. 

*  What  are  you  thinking  of  me  for,  Rosalie  ? '  he  said. 
'  Cannot  you  do  enough  of  that  work  in  the  daytime,  that 
you  must  spend  half  the  night  upon  it  ?  ' 

'  Are  you  sure  that  I  have  ? ' 

*  If  I  had  not  been  sure  of  it  I  should  have  claimed  your 
attention  when  I  first  came  in.' 

c  And  it  would  have  been  gladly  given.' 
1  Yes,  I  dare  say,'  said  Thornton,  '  but  one  may  as  well 
take  the  benefit  of  all  that  good  angels  &re  amind  to  do  for 


THE    GUARDIAN   ANGEL. 


41 


one.     I  am  almost  sorry  I  did  not,  though..     What  have  you 
got  there  ?  stockings  to  darn  ?  ' 

*  Only  Hulda's  stocking  to  fill  with  presents — you  know 
it  is  New-year's  eve.' 

I  Give  me  credit  for  remembering  something  once  in  the 
course  of  my  life.     I  did  recollect  that  there  was  a  stocking 
to  fill,  and  have  brought  home  my  quota.' 

I 1  am  so  very  glad  ! '  said  his  sister  with  a  look  of  great 
pleasure.     '  Hulda   would   have   been   disappointed  if  you 
had  forgotten  her.' 

'  She  don't  owe  me  many  thanks,'  said  Thornton,  as  he 
watched  the  fingers  that  were  busy  disposing  of  the  presents 
and  the  face  that  bent  over  them.  *  I  believe  she  might 
have  escaped  my  memory  if  her  sweet  guardian  could  have 
gone  with  her.  But  Hulda's  presents  were  to  pass  through 
your  hands — No — don't  kiss  me, — I  tell  you  I  don't  deserve 
it.  When  you  looked  up  a  little  while  ago,  I  felt  as  if  you 
were  up  in  the  sky,  and  I — I  don't  quite  know  where, — so 
I'll  wait  till  we  both  get  back  to  terra-firma  again.' 

1  Do  you  call  me  her  guardian  ?  '  said  Rosalie  with  one 
look  at  him. 

( Yes,  and  mine  too.  Why  didn't  you  have  tea  to-night  ? 
Well — you  look, — Want  to  know  how  I  found  it  out? — 
because  the  table  was  untouched.  Why  didn't  you  ?' 

1  0 — I  thought  I  would  wait  for  you,'  said  she  brightly. 

'  But  why  did  you,  after  all  ?  Don't  you  know  I'm  not 
worth  the  trouble  ?  ' 

'  0  Thornton  ! '  she  said. 

'  What  ? ' 

'  I  was  not  going  to  say  anything.' 

*  Your  saying  nothing  usually  tells  all  one  wants  to  know, 
and  a  little  more.     Come,  finish  your  work, — I  shall  play 
guardian  to-night,  and  make  you  go  down  and  eat  as  many 


42  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

oysters  as  an  angel  can  reasonably  be  supposed  to  want.  So 
make  haste,  for  it  is  time  such  particular  little  bodies  as  you 
were  in  bed.' 

He  had  named  her  right — she  was  indeed  his  guardian 
angel. 

In  the  midst  of  all  his  reckless  absence  and  waste  of 
time,  in  the  gayest  hours  of  pleasure  among  his  so-called 
best  friends,  there  was  still  in  his  inmost  heart  the  pure 
image  of  one  Christian,  whose  profession  he  knew  was  not  a 
name, — whose  walk  he  knew  was  consistent  ;  whose  life 
he  knew  was  gladly  submitted  to  a  higher  will  than  her  own. 
And  often  did  that  image  come  up  before  him,  rebuking  the 
light  irreverent  talk  of  his  companions,  making  false  their 
assertions,  and  reproving  him  for  even  listening  and  looking 
on.  His  mother  had  indeed  won  his  respect  no  less ;  but 
she  was  older — it  seemed  more  natural,  to  his  notion,  that 
Christianity  and  years  should  come  together.  But  his  sister 
— young  like  himself — younger  than  he, — beautiful,  admired, 
complimented;  and  yet  maintaining  that  pure  elevation  of 
heart  and'  mind — that  uncorrupted,  untainted  simplicity  of 
aim.  which  not  all  his  most  unbelieving  desires  could  find  in 
those  who  are  living  without  God  in  the  world : — it  vexed 
him  sometimes,  and  sometimes  it  roused  his  pride  and  some 
times  his  discontent, — yet  on  the  whole  it  pleased  him. 
There  was  a  strange  kind  of  fascination  in  seeing  one  who 
ought  naturally  to  look  up  to  him  for  counsel  and  strength, 
assume,  almost  unconsciously,  so  high  a  stand  above  him  ; 
and  array  herself  not  more  gently  than  firmly  against  so 
much  that  he  liked  and  followed.  And  though  he  often 
laughed  at  her,  sometimes  stopped  her  mouth  with  a  kiss, 
and  sometimes  got  excessively  provoked, — if  he  could  have 
thought  her  one  whit  more  tolerant  of  the  things  which 
Ue  tolerated,  one  jot  more  indulgent  towards  the  company 


THE   GUAKDIAN   ANGEL.  43 

and  the  pursuits  in  which  he  wasted  his  life — Thornton 
would  have  felt  that  the  best  thing  he  had  in  the  world  was 
gone  from  him.  He  watched  her — she  little  thought  with 
what  jealous  eyes;  and  at  every  instance  of  her  unwavering 
truth — not  only  in  word,  but  in  that  uprightness  of  heart 
which  pierces  through  error  and  fallacy  like  a  sunbeam — he 
smiled  to  himself;  or  rather  to  the  best  part  of  his  nature 
against  the  worst.  And  yet  upon  those  very  points  he 
would  argue  and  dispute  with  her  till  he  was  tired.  But 
this  consciousness  of  her  secret  influence  made  him  the  more 
shy  of  submitting  to  it  openly.  He  was  content  to  go  on 
after  the  old  fashion ;  thinking  Rosalie  a  piece  of  perfection, 
and  not  much  concerning  himself  whether  she  were  a  happy 
piece  of  perfection  or  no. 


44 


CHAPTER   VI. 

Here  she  was  wont  to  go !  and  here  1  and  here !— BEN  Joxsox. 

LITTLE  Hulda  had  slept  away  all  the  early  part  of  the  New- 
year's  morning,  and  it  was  not  till  after  the  rest  of  the  fam 
ily  had  long  ago  breakfasted  that  she  sat  up  in  bed  and 
looked  about  for  her  stocking.  For  the  doctor  gave  leave 
that  she  should  go  down  stairs  in  the  afternoon,  only  upon 
the  easy  condition  of  her  keeping  perfectly  quiet  all  the 
morning;  and  now,  bundled  up  in  dressing-gown  and 
shawls,  she  sat  leaning  on  Rosalie  and  supported  by  her 
arms,  to  examine  into  the  mysteries  that  had  hung  all  night 
at  the  head  of  her  bed.  She  was  weak  and  pale  still,  and 
the  touch  of  helplessness  which  illness  had  given  her  voice 
and  manner  went  to  her  sister's  heart.  When  Hulda  was 
well  and  playing  about,  recollections  came  less  readily ;  but 
now  the  season  of  itself  brought  enough — the  filling  of  that 
stocking  had  been  bitter  work, — and  when  from  time  to 
time  Hulda's  gentle  and  still  weary-looking  eyes  were  raised 
to  her  sister's  face  with  a  smile  of  pleasure,  or  her  lips  put 
up  to  receive  a  kiss ;  or  her  little  thin  hands  were  clasped 
round  Rosalie's  neck,  while  the  childish  voice  spoke  its 
thanks  with  such  an  earnest  yet  subdued  tone, — Rosalie 
heard  again  that  truth  which  she  never  could  forget — they 
were  both  motherless.  Not  Hulda  in  effect — her  whole  love 
and  dependence  had  been  transferred  ;  and  she  clung  to  her 


MUSIC.  45 

sister  with  a  trust  that  perhaps  was  the  strongest  she  had  ever 
felt,  for  it  was  undivided.  But  Rosalie — she  could  love  no 
one  now  as  Hulda  loved  her, — she  had  no  one  to  look  up  to 
— no  one  to  fall  back  upon  in  those  times  of  weakness  and 
weariness  that  stir  the  strongest  resolution.  No  one  on 
earth ;  and  though  smile  and  word  and  kiss  came  at  Hulda's 
bidding,  her  heart  yearned  for  a  more  far-seeing  sympathy, 
— her  head  longed  to  lay  itself  down  and  rest,  even  as  Hulda's 
was  resting  then.  Bitterly  she  remembered  that  she  was 
alone,  and  for  a  few  minutes  her  mind  bent  down  as  before 
a  tempest.  And  then,  drawn  like  ^Eolian  music  from  the 
very  breath  that  made  the  whirlwind,  came  the  words, 

"  My  presence  shall  go  ivith  thee,  and  I  will  give  tkee 
rest." 

"  The  rest  that  remaineth  " — she  thought  with  swimming 
eyes;  "  for  surely  our  heaven  lieth  not  here-away." 

c  Hulda  dear,'  she  said  presently,  bending  down  to  look 
at  the  languid  eyelids  that  could  hardly  be  kept  open,  l  you 
are  very  tired.  You  must  lie  down  and  sleep  again,  and  then 
by  and  by  you  shall  be  dressed  and  go  down  stairs.' 

'  But  you  ought  to  be  dressed,'  said  the  child  rousing 
herself  a  little, — 'you  won't  be  ready  to  see  people.' 

4 1  am  not  going  to  see  apy  body,  love.' 

f  You  needn't  mind  about  me,'  said  Hulda,  <  I'm  so  well 
now.  And  Martha  could  stay  here.' 

'  Martha  could  not,'  said  her  sister  as  she  laid  her  on  the 
bed,  *  for  I  mean  to  have  that  pleasure  myself.' 

'  0  that's  very  good,'  said  Hulda,  closing  her  eyes  with  a 
satisfied  air;  'only  it's  a  pity  the  people  should  be  disap 
pointed.' 

And  so  Hulda  fell  asleep  and  Rosalie  stood  watching 
her ;  and  the  Newyear's  sun  mounted  higher  and  higher  in 
the  clear  sky  ;  but  '  under  the  sun'  there  was  nothing  new. 


46  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

Unless  perhaps  the  hopes  and  resolutions, — and  they  were 
but  the  tying  of  an  old  cord  many  times  broken.  It  was 
Newyear's  day  in  name,  but  it  was  Old  year  in  reality.  The 
same  bright  points — the  same  dark  corners, — the  same 
strife  of  human  passions  and  weariness  of  human  hearts, — 
the  same  trembling  of  the  scales  of  that  never-poised  balance 
of  society.  There  was  more  leisure  taken,  and  more  plea 
sure  undertaken,  than  on  ordinary  days ;  but  among  all  the 
host  of  pleasure-seekers  that  now  began  to  spot  the  streets, 
the  beggar's  hand  was  still  held  out ;  the  doctor's  gig  went 
its  rounds ;  and  friends  looked  their  last,  that  Newyear's 
morning,  at  the  faces  of  those  to  whom  the  new  year  had 
not  come. 

"  Is  there  anything  whereof  it  may  be  said.  See,  this  is 
new  ?  " 

"  Behold  I  create  new  heavens  and  a  riew  earth ;  and 
the  former  shall  not  be  remembered,  nor  come  into  mind." 

1  Even  sorrow  shall  be  forgotten  then,'  Rosalie  thought, 
as  she  stood  watching  little  Hulda. 

'  Happy  Newyear  and  good  morning ! '  cried  a  bright 
voice,  while  the  door  was  pushed  gently  open.  *  How  dost 
thou,  fair  Rosalie  ? — fairest  of  all  cousins  whether  real  or 
adopted.  Here  am  I  just  arrived  in  time  to  dress  for  visiters, 
and  that  being  done,  I  forthwith  turn  visiter  myself.  My 
dear  your  cheeks  are  as  soft  as  ever,  and  your  eyes  as  grave ; 
and  your  mouth — well  I  won't  detail  that  combination.' 

c  How  pleasant  it  is  to  see  you ! '  said  Rosalie ;  as  the 
young  lady  after  a  variety  of  salutations  held  her  back  with 
in  gazing  distance. 

'  How  pleasant  it  is  to  see  you, — which  proves  me  of  a 
disposition  neither  envious  nor  jealous.  What  have  you 
done  to  yourself,  child  ? — or  have  I  been  looking  at  the 
dark  side  of  human  nature  till  my  eyes  are  contracted  and 
cannot  bear  the  light  ? ' 


FIRING   A    SALUTE.  47 

*  Nothing  has  contracted  your  eyes  since  I  saw  them 
last,'  said  Rosalie  smiling.  '  I  am  in  some  doubt  as  to 
your  judgment.  Did  you  come  here  bareheaded  in  this 
weather  ? ' 

'  Had  to,  my  dear,  because  of  my  hair — there  wouldn't 
be  time  to  dress  it  again  when  I  get  home,  you  know.  O  I 
rode  of  course, — rumbled  through  the  streets  to  the  envy 
— or  admiration — of  all  the  gentlemen  on  foot.' 

*  No  doubt !     But  would  their  admiration  keep  you  from 
taking  cold  ?'  / 

c  0  yes — perfectly. — giddy  heads  never  take  cold, — you 
might  as  well  talk  of  champagne's  freezing.  Some  one  of 
my  elderly  friends  is  at  this  moment  detailing  to  mamma — 
'  My  dear  madam,  I  saw  Miss  Arnet  this  morning  in  a  most 
dangerous  situation.' — Nevertheless  here  I  am  safe.  This 
child  is  better  I  hear.  And  how  are  you,  Alie  ? ' 

<  Well.' 

'  Well  ?  you  don't  look  it.  I  saw  Thornton  in  Broadway 
with  his  troop — where  was  he  going  ?' 

'  To  have  a  salute  fired  for  the  Macedonian,  I  believe,' 
said  Rosalie.  '  A  message  came  for  him  in  all  haste  to  say 
that  she  was  just  coming  in.' 

'  0  that  Macedonian  ! '  cried  the  young  lady, — l  there 
never  was  anything  like  it !  You  know  they  had  a  great 
naval  ball  at  Washington  for  Captain  Stewart  and  the  rest; 
and  I  was  there  of  course,  and  everybody  else.  And  the 
room  was  dressed  out  with  all  manner  of  sea  things — I 
should  rather  say  sea-faring  things — and  with  the  colours  of 
the. Alert  and  the  Guerriere  on  the  walls.  The  city  was 
illuminated  too,  that  evening,  because  of  the  victory  :  and 
everybody  was  in  the  best  possible  spirits.  Well  about 
nine  o'clock  their  was  a  stir  in  the  room — we  could  not  tell 
what  about  at  first, — only  the  gentlemen  began  to  rush  down 


48  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

• 

in  the  most  extraordinary  manner,  and  the  ladies  stood  still 
and  looked.  Then  suddenly  came  the  most  tremendous 
cheering  outside  the  house  ! — one  stream  of  cheers,  that 
seemed  to  have  no  end ;  and  word  came  up  that  Lieutenant 
Hamilton  had  just  arrived  with  the  Macedonian's  colours ! 
— it  excites  me  even  now  to  think  of  it.'  She  drew  a  long 
breath  and  went  on. 

1  They  all  came  back  in  a  body  presently,  bringing  Mr. 
Hamilton  with  them ;  for  all  his  family  were  there  at  the 
ball.  And  then  Captain  Stewart  and  Captain  Hull  and 
some  others,  brought  in  the  flag, — with  such  shouts  and 
hurrahs  and  waving  of  handkerchiefs — and  '  Hail  Columbia' 
from  the  band.  And  then  at  supper  they  toasted  Com 
modore  Decatur  and  his  officers  and  crew,  with  ten  time's 
ten,  it  seemed  to  me — instead  of  three  times  three.  My 
dear,  you  never  heard  people  shout  as  we  did.' 

I  You  among  the  rest?'  said  Rosalie  smiling. 

I 1  don't  know — I'm  sure  I  cried.     And  vos  beaux  yeux 
are   sparkling   even  at  my  poor  account.     There   go   the 
guns ! ' 

They  both  started  up  and  stood  listening ;  and  while 
all  the  bells  of  the  city  rang  out  their  gladness,  the  guns  at 
the  Battery  gave  a  response  for  the  old  Thirteen — a  pledge 
that  not  one  of  them  should  be  wanting  in  the  contest. 

'  The  bells  will  ring  for  an  hour  yet,'  said  Marion  as  the 
last  report  died  away,  '  so  you  may  as  well  sit  down  and  lis 
ten  at  your  leisure.  Poor  Mary  Laton !  how  can  she  bear 
all  this.  Her  oldest  son  was  killed  in  the  engagement. 
Well,  I  must  go.  How  lovely  you  look,  child  ! — these  guns 
have  put  colour  in  your  cheeks, — try  and  keep  it  for  your 
visiters — O  no,  you  will  not  see  them.  Poor  child !  and 
dear  child,  and  every  kind  of  a  child  that  ever  was  well  be 
loved,  goodbye.'  And  giving  Rosalie  a  half  dozen  kisses 
Miss  Arnet  quitted  the  room. 


GREAT    GUNS   AND    KNITTING-NEEDLES.  49 

When  little  Hulda  next  awoke  she  found  Martha  keeping 
watch  at  her  bedside. 

Not  indeed  keeping  watch  of  her, — for  Martha's  eyes 
were  intent  upon  four  long  shining  knitting-needles  that  were 
kicking  about  at  a  great  rate ;  while  below  them  depended  a 
short  worsted  cylinder  of  clouded  blue  yarn. 

1  What  are  you  doing,  Martha  1 '  said  Hulda. 

1  Massy !  child,  how  you  scar't  me  !  and  made  me  drop  a 
stitch  into  the  bargain.  Why  I'm  a  knittin' — didn't  you 
never  see  nobody  knit  afore  ? ' 

'  0  yes,  but  not  such  a  looking  thing  as  that,'  said  Hulda 
disapprovingly.  *  What  is  it  ? ' 

'  It's  a  firstrate  lookin'  thing,  I  can  tell  you,'  said  Martha 
— '  firstrate  feelin'  too.  It's  a  mitten.' 

'  What's  a  mitten  1 '  said  Hulda,  who  being  a  young  lady 
convalescent  and  at  leisure  was  well  disposed  to  ask  ques 
tions. 

1  Don't  you  know  ? — them  things  people  wears  on  their 
hands.  It  aint  a  glove,  but  it  kivers  a  person's  hand  just  as 
well — some  folks  thinks  better.' 

*  0  I  know  now,'  said  Hulda — { it's  like  a  Iktle  bag  with 
a  thumb  to  it.' 

*  Well  I  s'pose  it  does  look  considerable  like  that,'  said 
Martha  knitting  away  with  renewed  energy. 

'  Only  a  bag  is  shut  up  at  one  end — 'said  Hulda  doubt 
fully. 

1  A  thing  can't  be  finished  till  it's  done,'  said  Martha 
sententiously. 

Hulda  looked  on  for  a  while  in  silence. 

( Is  that  little  hole  for  the  thumb  to  come  out  of  ? ' 

'  For  nothing  else,'  said  Martha. 

'  But  who  are  they  for  ?  '  said  Hulda, — c  that  is  too  big 
for  you.' 

3 


50  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  La  sakes,  Hulda,  you  aint  waked  up,  be  you  ?  I  guess 
it  '11  be  some  time  afore  I  want  mittens  to  sew  in.  These  is 
for  the  militie.' 

1  The  militia  ? '  said  Hulda.  <  Why  they  don't  want 
mittens.' 

'JDon't  they  though  ? — then  you  know  more  about  it 
than  Tom  Skiddy,  for  he  says  his  hands  gets  awful  cold 
sometimes,  mornings.  And  you  see,  Hulda,  the  paper  says 
the  ladies  up  to  Newburgh  and  Hudson  and  all  along  shore 
there,  has  been  knittin'  their  fingers  off;  and  sent  I  do'  know 
how  many  pairs  of  socks  and  mittens — six  hundred  I  guess, 
more  or  less — up  to  the  Governor  for  the  militie  j  and  there 
was  printed  thanks  to  'em  in  the  paper, — so  I  don't  see  why 
folks  here  mustn't  do  nothing.' 

'  0  yes,  Rosalie  told  me  about  that,'  said  Hulda.  c  But 
she  said  those  were  for  the  soldiers  away  off — somewhere 
where  it's  very  cold.' 

1  'Taint  cold  here,  I  s'pose,'  said  Martha, — l  we  don't 
have  to  make  fires  in  these  parts.' 

*  But  it  isn't  so  cold  as  some  other  places.' 

*  La  child,  so  long's  fingers  gets  froze,  it  don't  make  much 
odds  about  the  theometer.     And  fingers  can  get  froze  in  this 
town  o'  York — Tom  Skiddy  says  so.' 

'You  like  Tom  Skiddy  very  much,  don't  you?'  said 
Hulda. 

'  He  aint  so  bad  he  couldn't  be  worse,'  replied  Martha, 
when  her  head  had  taken  two  or  three  turns  as  if  her  mind 
were  balancing  as  well. 

'  But  isn't  he  very  good  to  you  ?  '  pursued  Hulda. 

'  Good  to  me ! '  said  Martha  with  a  gyration  of  more 
dignity, — l  he  aint  got  quite  so  far  as  that  yet.  Once  in  a 
while  I'm  good  to  him, — and  he's  pretty  good  to  himself. 
That's  about  the  state  of  the  case.  Only  I  may  as  well  give 


THE  MILITIA-MAN'S  MITTENS.  51 

the  mittens  to  the  first  militie-man  that  comes  handy ;  in 
stead  of  sending  'em  off  to  nobody  knows  who,  nor  whether 
they'd  fit.' 

Hulda  looked  on  again  thoughtfully. 

{  Thornton  don't  wear  mittens,'  sh.e  said. 

'  I  can't  see  why  poor  folks  should  lose  their  fingers 
because  the  Capting  buys  yaller  gloves,'  said  Martha.  And 
inspired  by  the  freezing  fingers  hers  flew  the  faster. 

'  How  very  quick  you  knit ! '  said  Hulda. 

'  Don't  I,  though  ! '  said  Martha — 'as  quick  as  most  folks. 
I  always  was  spry.  And  you  see,  Hulda,  I'll  put  blue  and 
white  fringe  to  the  top;  and  the  way  they'll  keep  Tom 
Skiddy's  fingers  warm,  '11  be  a  caution.' 


52  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  wind  has  swept  from  the  wide  atmosphere 
Each  vapour  that  obscured  the  sunset's  ray, 

And  pallid  evening  twines  its  beamy  hair 
In  duskier  braids  around  the  eyes  of  day ; 

Silence  and  twilight,  unbeloved  of  men, 

Creep  hand  in  hand  from  yon  obscurest  glen. — SHELLEY. 

IT  was  Sunday  afternoon ;  and  unlike  most  perfect  things, 
the  daylight  lingered  5  and  a  fair  specimen  of  "winter  drew 
slowly  to  its  close.  The  last  sunbeams  played  persuasively 
about  the  hard-featured  city,  as  if  to  draw  and  lead  its  at 
tention  towards  the  great  light  of  the  world  ;  even  as  had 
the  light  of  truth  that  day  touched  some  hearts  that  slowly 
moved  off  beyond  its  reach. 

Little  Hulda  sat  in  her  sister's  lap  by  the  parlour  fire  ; 
sometimes  putting  forth  simple  questions  and  remarks  in  a 
very  unostentatious  way,  and  sometimes  silently  following 
her  sister's  eyes,  as  they  gazed  upon  the  fire  or  looked  out 
into  the  darkening  light.  At  the  window,  half  withdrawn 
within  the  curtains,  sat  Thornton.  He  had  but  just  come 
in,  and  seemed  not  to  have  brought  his  mind  in  with  him, 
for  his  attention  was  given  undividedly  to  the  street.  At 
least  it  seemed  to  be ;  but  from  a  certain  moody  aspect, 
from  the  gloomy  air  with  which  he  now  and  then  nodded  to 
a  passer-by,  his  sister  judged  that  his  thoughts  were  busy 
not  only  within  doors  but  within  himself.  Neither  pleas- 


THE   KITCHEN   BIBLE-CLASS.  53 

antly  nor  profitably  she  thought, — it  was  more  like  the 
clouds  which  cover  up  the  day  than  the  darkness  which  pro 
cedes  it. 

Afraid'  that  he  should  think  she  was  watching  him,  her 
eye  came  back  to  the  fire  and  then  down  to  the  little  face 
on  her  breast.  Hulda  was  observing  her  very  anxiously, 
but  the  anxiety  broke  away  and  a  smile  came. 

'  Are  you  tired,  Alie  ? '  said  the  child  stroking  her  face. 

4  A  little.' 

'Were  you  out  this  afternoon  ?'  said  Thornton  abruptly 
turning  his  head. 

<  No— I  staid  with.Hulda.' 

c  You  were  not  with  Hulda  when  I  came  in  ?' 

'No.' 

*  Where  then  ? ' 

'  0  with  some  scholars  who  are  older  and  know  less,' 
said  Rosalie. 

'  In  other  words,  with  your  kitchen  Bible-class,'  said 
Thornton  in  a  way  which  gave  the  adjective  its  full  effect. 

She  bowed  her  head  slightly  but  without  looking  at  him, 
and  answered,  '  Even  so.' 

Her  brother  eyed  her  for  a  minute  and  then  said  more 
softly, 

'  What  do  you  do  so  for,  Alie  ? — it's  too  absurd,  and 
wrong.  Tiring  youself  out  as  if  you  were  not  possessed  of 
common  sense.' 

'Why  you  declared  yourself ' tired  out'  yesterday,'  said 
his  sister  smiling. 

*  But  I  had  been  amusing  myself — taking  -my  pleasure.' 
'  And  I  have  been  taking  mine.' 

*  Nonsense  !     Do  you  expect  me  to  believe  that  you  like 
to  hear  bad  English  and  worse  Theology  if  it  is  only  kept 
in  countenance  by  the  kitchen  dresser  ? ' 


54  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'•  Not  Theology  at  all,'  said  his  sister,  '  only  the  Bible ; 
and  that  is  sweet  English  to  my  ear,  always.  And  if  it 
were  not —  Thornton,  you  would  have  liked  to  bear  a  hand 
in  the  destruction  of  the  Bastile  ?' 

'  There  you  are — '  said  Thornton, — '  off  on  some  unpur- 
suable  tangent.  The  most  impossible  person  to  argue  with 
I  ever  saw  ! '  and  his  head  turned  to  the  window  again. 

'  I  haven't  said  any  hymn  to-night,  Alie,'  said  little 
Hulda. 

1  Well  dear,  it  is  not  too  late.' 

'  0  no,'  said  Hulda,  '  but  I  haven't  learned  any  new  one.' 

1  Then  tell  me  one  of  the  old. ' 

Hulda  considered  a  while,  and  began  very  slowly  and 
distinctly. 

"  Little  travellers  Zionward, 
Each  one  entering  into  rest, 
In  the  kingdom  of  your  Lord, 
In  the  mansions  of  the  blest ; 
There,  to  welcome,  Jesus  waits — 
Gives  the  crowns  his  followers  win — 
Lift  your  heads,  ye  golden  gates  1 
Let  the  little  travellers  in ! 

Who  are  they  whose  little  feet, 
Pacing  life's  dark  journey  through, 
Now  have  reached  that  heavenly  seat 
They  had  ever  kept  in  view  ? 

'  I  from  Greenland's  frozen  land ; ' 

'  I  from  India's  sultry  plain  ; ' 

'  I  from  Afric's  barren  land  ; ' 
-    '  I  from  islands  of  the  main.' 

'  All  our  earthly  journey  past, 
'  Every  tear  and  pain  gone  by, 
*  Here  together  met  at  last, 
'  At  the  portal  of  the  sky ! 


SUNDAY   EMPLOYMENTS.  55 

'  Each  the  welcome  'Come'  awaits, 
'  Conquerors  over  death  and  sin  ! ' 

Lift  your  heads,  ye  golden  gates ! 

Let  the  little  travellers  in ! " 

Rosalie  had  listened  with  her  face  bent  down  and  rest 
ing  upon  the  child's  head  ;  drinking  in  the  words  with  dou 
ble  pleasure  from  those  little  lips,  and  blessing  God  in  her 
heart  for  the  life  and  immortality  so  clearly  brought  to 
light,  so  simply  put  forth  within  the  reach  of  a  child's  faith. 
She  glanced  towards  her  brother,  but  the  moodiness  was 
greater  than  ever. 

'  What  makes  you  sigh,  Alie  ? '  said  Hulda  looking  up. 
'  Don't  you  think  that's  a  pretty  hymn  ?' 

'  I  do  indeed.  But  Hulda,  who  are  these  little  travel 
lers  ? ' 

(  You  told  me — the  children  that  follow  Christ.' 

'  And  what  does  that  mean  ? ' 

1  You  told  me,'  said  Hulda  again,  with  her  usual  smile 
at  ascribing  anything  to  her  sister.  '  I  remember  you  said 
it  was  going  after  him  with  our  hearts  more  than  any  other 
way.  You  said  that  merely  to  keep  some  of  God's  com 
mands  without  trying  to  love  him,  was  like  walking  back 
wards.' 

I  Yes,  the  people  who  are  seeking  first  the  kingdom  of 
God  are  not  yet  free  from  sin — they  do  slip  and  fall  some 
times — but   that  is  their   grief.      Their   faces  are  toward 
heaven, — their  desire  is  to  do  the  will  of  God,  because  he 
has  loved  them  and  given  himself  for  them.' 

I 1  wish  I  could — '  said  Hulda  who  was  looking  gravely 
into  the  fire, — '  I  do  try.     I  like  that  hymn  so  much,  Alie. 
It's  s>o  pleasant  to  think  that  there  will  be  all  sorts  of  poor 
little  children  in  heaven, — and  there  they'll  be  just  as  hap 
py  as  anyone  else.' 


56  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  Yes — '  said  her  sister  with  a  long  breath, — '  all  will  be 
happy  in  heaven — and  there  will  be  no  difference  there. 
Those  gates  are  open  to  all  who  follow  Christ,  and  the 
little  black  children  are  as  free  to  go  in  as  the  white.  It  is 
not  any  particular  nation,  nor  any  particular  church,  but 
"  the  redeemed  of  the  Lord"  that  shall  "  return  and  come 
to  Zion  with  songs  and  everlasting  joy  upon  their  heads. 
They  shall  obtain  joy  and  gladness,  and  sorrow  and  sighing 
shall  flee  away."  ' 

'  Aren't  you  ready  to  have  candles  ?  '  said  Thornton 
suddenly  quitting  his  seat  at  the  window.  '  It's  excessively 
stupid  sitting  here  in  the  dark.' 

Rosalie  reached  out  her  hand  to  the  bell-cord,  while 
Hulda  exclaimed, 

1  Stupid  !  0  that  was  because  you  were  too  far  off  to 
hear  what  Alie  was  talking  about ' 

1  It  was  not  because  I  was  too  far  off.' 

'But  how  could  you  feel  stupid,  then  ?'  said  Hulda. 
'  I'm  sure  it  was  beautiful.' 

i  It,— what  ? 

'  Why,  what  she  was  repeating  to  me.' 

*  So  let  it  remain  then,'  said  Thornton.  i  Bring  some 
more  wood,  Tom — and  last  night's  paper.' 

'  You  must  not  expect  to  find  everybody  as  fond  of  my 
talk  as  you  are,  Hulda,'  said  Rosalie,  with  an  attempt  to 
bring  down  the  child's  look  of  astonishment.  '  I  am  not  a 
very  brilliant  expositor.' 

'  What  is  an  expositor  ? '  said  Hulda. 

1  A  person  who  explains  particular  passages  or  books.' 

'/think  you  are  brilliant,'  said  Hulda,  with  a  smile  that 
certainly  was. 

'  Why  don't  you  ask  me  who  I  heard  this  afternoon  ? ' 
said  Thornton  abruptly. 


SUNDAY   EMPLOYMENTS.  57 

'  Gentlemen  sometimes  prefer  to  give  an  unsolicited  ac 
count  of  their  movements,'  said  his  sister,  with  a  look  and 
smile  that  might  have  stroked  any  fur  into  order. 

1  You  shall  have  it  then,'  he  answered.  '  I  heard  "Will 
Ackerman  and  Lieutenant  Knolles.' 

A  flush  of  deep  feeling  came  to  her  face  and  left  it  as 
quickly,  but  she  said  nothing ;  only  her  eyes  which  had  been 
raised  to  his  with  interested  expectation  fell  again,  and  her 
cheek  once  more  rested  upon  Hulda. 

'  We  had  a  very  fine  walk,'  Thornton  went  on,  'and  then 
a  game  of  billiards,  and  so  home  with  the  church-goers.' 

Still  she  said  nothing,  nor  raised  her  head,  although  its 
support  was  suddenly  withdrawn  ;  for  Hulda  having  with 
some  trouble  taken  the  meaning  of  such  strange  words,  started 
up  and  exclaimed, 

'  But  it's  very  wrong  to  play  billiards  on  Sunday  and  not 
go  to  church  !  Don't  you  know  that,  Thornton  ?  ' 

'  I  know  that  you  concern  yourself  with  what  is  not 
your  business,'  said  the  young  man  hastily,  his  hand  giving 
more  evident  token  of  his  displeasure.  But  it  did  not 
reach  Hulda's  cheek,  only  the  shielding  hand  of  her  sister. 

An  indignant  outburst  was  upon  the  child's  lips,  but  the 
same  hand  was  there  too  ;  and  before  Hulda  had  made  up 
her  mind  whether  she  was  too  frightened  or  too  angry  to 
cry,  Rosalie  had  taken  her  quietly  out  of  the  room.  Her 
doubts  were  easily  resolved  then,  and  long  before  they  had 
reached  the  top  of  the  stairs  she  was  sobbing  her  little 
heart  out  upon  Rosalie's  neck.  And  more  for  her  sister's 
wrong  than  her  own, — the  shielding  hand  was  kissed  and 
cried  over  a  great  many  times  before  Hulda's  grief  would 
let  her  speak,  or  Rosalie's  silent  agitation  submit  to  control. 
She  bent  herself  then  to  the  task  of  calming  Hulda, — check- 
Ing  her  displeased  and  exited  speeches  about  Thornton, 
3* 


58  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

drying  her  tears,  and  endeavouring  to  make  her  understand 
that  it  was  not  always  best  for  little  girls  to  reprove  their 
grown-up  brothers.  A  difficult  task  !  without  compromising 
either  Thornton  or  the  truth. 

'  I  don't  care  ! '  was  Hulda's  satisfactory  conclusion, — 
( I  shoudn't  love  him  if  he  was  fifty  times  my  brother  !  And 
I  don't  want  to.' 

'  I  love  him  very  much,  Hulda.' 

c  I  shouldn't  think  you  would !  '  and  a  fresh  shower  of 
tears  was  bestowed  upon  Rosalie's  hand. 

'  Why  my  hand  was  not  hurt,'  said  her  sister. 

4 1  don't  care  ! '  said  Hulda, — c  it  makes  no  difference.' 

(  0  you  are  wrong,  dear  child,'  said  Rosalie, — '  you  must 
love  him  and  try  to  please  him.  Come,  look  up — a  little 
impatience  is  not  worth  so  many  tears.' 

The  child  looked  up — inquiringly, — as  if  she  had  detected 
tears  in  her  sister's  voice ;  but  Rosalie's  face  was  calm, 
though  very,  very  grave. 

'  If  you  will  jump  down  from  my  lap  and  ring  the  bell,' 
she  said,  '  Martha  shall  bring  your  tea  up  here,  and  then  we 
will  talk  and  you  shall  go  to  bed.' 

So  the  bell  was  rung  and  Martha  came  and  went  accord 
ing  to  directions ;  but  when  she  came  the  second  time  with 
the  tray,  Miss  Jumps  stood  still. 

1  You  aint  afraid  of  getting  fat,  Miss  Rosalie,  be  you  ?  ' 
she  said, — '  cause  you'll  be  in  no  danger  this  some  time — 
that  a  brave  man  couldn't  face,  as  Tom  says.  Now  there's 
bread  and  butter  down  stairs  no  thicker  than  a  thought,  and 
beef,  and  preserves — and  I'll  fetch  you  up  a  cup  of  tea  that 
shall  smoke  so  you  can't  see  it.  What'll  you  have  ?  Air's 
good  enough  in  its  way,  but  folks  can't  live  on  nothing  else.' 

1  Thank  you  Martha,'  said  her  mistress.  '  but  I  am  not 
ready  for  tea  yet.  Ask  Mr.  Thornton  when  you  go  down 
how  soon  he  wishes  to  have  it.' 


A  SISTER'S  LOVE.  59 

CI  smell  salt  water,'  said  Martha  Jumps  as  slie  went 
down  to  the  kitchen, — '  I  say  I  do,  sartain  sure.  One  of 
my  forbears  must  have  been  a  sailor,  and  no  mistake. 

'  Tom  ! — Tom  Skiddy  ! — go  up  to  the  parlour  straight, 
and  ask  Mr.  Thornton  if  he  wants  his  tea  to-night  or  to-mor 
row  morning.  I  guess  he'd  just  as  soon  wait  till  morning, — 
and  I'd  as  soon  he  would  and  a  little  sooner.' 

c  It's  like  enough  you'll  be  gratified  then,'  said  Tom,  c  for 
I  was  up  to  the  parlour  a  matter  of  five  minutes  ago  to  ask 
when  he  wanted  tea ;  and  all  I  got  was,  that  when  he  did 
he'd  let  me  know.' 

The  evening  had  worn  away,  and  Thornton  and  the 
newspaper  still  sat  vis-a-vis  at  the  table,  when  the  door  was 
quietly  opened  and  Rosalie  came  in.  He  heard  her  well 
enough,  but  the  debating  mood  he  had  been  in  resolved  it 
self  for  the  moment  into  a  committee  of  pride  and  false  shame 
— therefore  he  did  not  speak  nor  look  up.  Neither  when 
her  hand  was  laid  on  his  forehead — and  its  touch  said  a 
great  deal  to  him,  as  the  fingers  stroked  back  and  played  for 
a  moment  with  his  hair — did  he  see 'fit  to  notice  it. 

*  Thornton,'  said  she  softly,  c  I  wish  you  would  put  up 
the  paper  and  talk  to  me.' 

1  Because  you  do  not  wish  me  to  read  the  paper,  or  be 
cause  you  do  wish  to  talk — which  ? ' 

1  A  little  of  both.' 

'  Well — '  and  he  sent  the  paper  skimming  across  the 
table —  '  there. — Now  I  am  ready  to  hear  what  you've  got 
to  say.  Let  me  have  the  lecture  at  once  and  be  done  with 
it.' 

' I  have  no  lecture  to  give,'  she  said  gently.  1 1  am 
neither  wise  nor  strong-hearted  enough  to-night.' 

'  I  should  think  you  were  troubled  with  small  doubts  of 
your  own  wisdom,'  said  Thornton, — '  why  did  you  interfere 
between  me  and  Hulda  ?  ' 


60  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  To  save  her  from  unmerited  punishment.' 

'  Unmerited  !  she  was  excessively  impertinent.' 

'  She  did  not  mean  to  be — you  forget  what  a  child  she  is, 
- — and  that  you  are  her  brother.' 

(  And  therefore  she  may  say  what  she  likes,  I  suppose,' 
said  Thornton.  '  It's  a  privilege  to  have  fiisters  at  that 
rate ! ' 

He  had  not  looked  at  her  since  she  came  in,  but  the 
pure  image  in  his  heart  was  never  brighter  than  at  that 
moment — he  felt  what  a  privilege  it  was. 

(  Yes,'  Rosalie  answered,  as  she  knelt  at  his  side  with 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  '  Yes — it  is  a  privilege  to  have 
sisters — and  brothers, — to  have  any  near  and  dear  friends 
in  this  wide  world  ; — an  unspeakable  blessing.' 

'  Is  that  the  blessing  you  have  been  crying  over  to 
night?'  said  Thornton,  glancing  at  her  in  spite  of  himself. 
1  It  seems  not  to  afford  you  much  satisfaction.  I  wish  you 
would  speak  out  at  once  !  '  he  added  impetuously.  '  Why 
don't  you  tell  me  that  I  have  done  all  manner  of  bad  things 
— shocked  you,  disgraced  myself,  and  so  forth  ?  Say — why 
don't  you?' 

4  Because  you  had  said  it  all  to  yourself  before  you  came 
home,'  she  answered  steadily  and  without  looking  at  him. 

The  words  were  spoken  very  gently  but  in  a  way  not  to 
be  contradicted — if  indeed  he  had  been  so  inclined ;  but 
among  all  the  qualities,  good,  bad,  and  indifferent,  that 
went  to  make  up  Thornton's  character,  a  few  had  never 
been  tampered  with.  Foremost  among  these  stood  truth. 
The  very  feeling  which  had  moved  him  to  tell  how  he  had 
spent  the  afternoon,  was  partly  good  and  partly  bad.  The 
strong  contrast  of  the  quiet  rest  of  Rosalie's  hope  with  his 
own  restless  cravings,  had  wrought  upon  a  mind  dissatisfied 
with  itself  till  for  a  moment  he  was  willing  to  make  her 


THE    LECTURE.  61 

dissatisfied ;  but  another  feeling  had  wrought  too  in  prompt 
ing  the  disclosure — the  consciousness  that  she  thought  he 
had  been  more  faithful  to  her  wishes  than  was  the  truth. 

Therefore  when  she  told  him  that  he  was  displeased  with 
himself,  no  word  of  equivocation  passed  his  lips  ;  though  he 
coloured  deeply. 

'You  speak  with  sufficient  boldness!'  he  said.  '  And 
you  do  not  call  this  lecturing  one  ? ' 

'  No,'  she  said  in  the  same  quiet  way,  and  resting  her 
cheek  on  his  shoulder.  c  Neither  do  you.  But  you  try  so 
hard  not  to  understand  your  own'thoughts  sometimes,  that  I 
thought  I  would  give  you  a  little  help.' 

'  I  hope  you  will  explain  your  own  words  next.' 

*  You  remind  me,'  she  said  with  a  little  smile  which 
came  and  went  instantly,  '  of  some  one  who  said  he  would 
give  to  a  certain  charity  if  no  one  asked  him  to  give.  If  any 
one  did,  he  should  probably  knock  the  man  down  and  give 
nothing.' 

'  And  the  key  to  this  fable  ?  '—said  Thornton. 

1  It  is  hardly  needed.  You  know  the  truth — you  appre 
ciate  it — there  is  not  one  part  of  your  character  but  sides,  in 
its  own  secret  persuasions,  with  right  against  wrong.  And 
yet  when  I,  or  public  opinion,  or  especially  your  own  con 
science,  says,  "  this  is  the  way — walk  ye  in  it" — that  mo 
ment  you  say  "  Nay,  but  after  the  desires  of  my  own  heart 
will  I  walk}"  .  ,  • 

She  paused  a  few  moments  and  then  went  on. 

'  Thornton,  I  came  down  to  ask  one  thing  of  you.' 

'  You  had  better  not,'  he  said,  but  more  gently  than  be 
fore, — '  according  to  your  statement  of  the  case  I  shall  not 
grant  it.  But  let  me  hear — perhaps  I  am  not  in  a  perverse 
mood  at  present.' 

'  You  must  not  be  displeased  with  me — I  wanted  to  ask, 


62  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

to  entreat,  that  you  will  never  again  in  such  circumstances 
let  Hulda  know  where  you  have  been  or  what  you  have  been 
doing.  Let  her  keep  all  her  love  and  respeot  for  you  — all 
that  childish  faith  and  veneration  for  the  Lord's  day  and  his 
commands,  which  you  sometimes  please  to  call  superstition. 
0  Thornton !  do  not  try  to  ruin  more  than  one  of  our 
mother's  children  ! ' 

Her  arms  were  about  his  neck  and  her  face  laid  against 
his  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  was  gone  ;  and  Thornton  sat 
alone  with  his  own  reflections  until  the  bright  wood  fire  had 
become  but  a  heap  of  white  ashes,  and  Trinity  church  had 
told  off  more  than  one  of  the  small  hours. 

He  roused  himself  then,  and  stood  up, — that  same  sweet 
presence  about  him  yet,  his  mother's  picture  before  him,  and 
still  sounding  in  his  ears  the  words  he  had  heard  repeated 
to  Hulda  in  the  afternoon.  He  felt  their  power,  even  as 
some  persons  can  appreciate  a  fine  melody  while  yet  they 
know  not  one  note  of  music.  He  took  his  light  and  went 
thoughtfully  up  stairs,  but  Rosalie's  door  arrested  him, — he 
opened  it  softly  and  went  in. 

The  moon  shown  in  brilliantly  but  failed  to  awaken  the 
quiet  sleepers.  Both  in  most  quiet  rest, — yet  Thornton  saw 
and  felt  a  difference.  Hulda,  with  her  arm  across  her  sis 
ter's  neck,  was  in  the  very  luxuriance  of  sleep, — there  were 
none  of  night's  own  visions,  there  was  no  lingering  one  of 
the  day,  to  disturb  her  with  its  influence, — her  little  train 
of  thought  was  noiseless  as  a  train  could  be,  and  apparently 
glided  through  fairy-land.  Her  sister's  slumber  was  not  so 
ddep ;  and  though  undisturbed,  though  the  lines  of  the  face 
were  more  absolutely  quiet  than  Huldajs, — the  mouth  had 
not  relaxed  its  gravity,  nor  were  the  eyelashes  dry. 

Thornton  went  to  bed  strangely  dissatisfied  with  himself. 


BREAKING   AWAY.  63 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"Wouldst  thou  go  forth  to  bless,  be  sure  of  thine  own  ground, 
Fix  well  thy  centre  first,  then  draw  thy  circles  round. — TEENCH. 

DESPITE  the  night's  fair  promise  the  morning  rose  upon  "bad 
weather ;  but  in  the  moral  atmosphere  the  change  had  been 
the  other  way,  and  everything  looked  brighter.  Though 
indeed  according  to  one  fancy  the  changes  were  much  alike, 
and 

" the  sulphurous  rifts  of  passion  and  woe 

Lay  deep  'neath  a  silence  pure  and  smooth, 

Like  burnt-out  craters  healed  with  snow." 

1 1  am  so  glad  it  snows  ! '  exclaimed  Hulda  dancing  into 
the  breakfast  room.  '  You  know  you  said  you  would  give 
me  a  sleigh-ride,  Thornton,  as  soon  as  I  was  well  enough, 

and  we  had  some  more ' 

She  stopped  short,  the   evening  before  suddenly  in  her 
thoughts. 

'  As  soon  as  we  had  some  more  what  ? '  said  her  brother 
looking  off  the  paper.  '  Rain  ?' 

1 1  was  going  to  say  snow,'  said  Hulda  in  a  low  voice. 

1  That  is  a  tremendous  word,  certainly, — it  is  not  sur 
prising  that  you  were  afraid  to  speak  it.  See  here,  Hulda — 
I  don't  want  two  guardians,  and  I  think  on  the  whole  I 
prefer  Rosalie  to  your  little  ladyship, — so  do  you  never  take 


64  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

it  upon  you  to  give  me  advice.  I  am  not  gifted  with  the 
Moon's  patience,  unfortunately.' 

i  The  Moon's  patience  !'  'said  Hulda.  c  I  never  heard  of 
that  before.' 

'  Why  you  know,'  said  Thornton,  c  when  a  little  dog  once 
undertook  to  bark  at  the  Moon,  the  Moon  kept  on  shining.' 

'  I  don't  think  you  are  like  the  Moon,'  said  Hulda  laugh 
ing,  but  eyeing  him  a  little  askance, — '  not  a  bit.' 

1  Never  mind — in  future  you  must  deliver  your  opinions 
of  me  and  my  conduct  to  "Rosalie,  and  she  may  repeat  what 
of  them  she  likes.  Where  is  she  this  morning  ?  ' 

She  was  at  his  side,  even  as  he  spoke ;  with  a  face  so 
fair,  so  shadowless  except  for  a  little  anxious  feeling  when 
she  first  looked  at  him — a  half  glance  of  inquiry  as  it  were 
— that  Thornton  was  too  touched  to  speak  ;  and  taking  both 
her  hands,  he  kissed  her  first  on  one  cheek  and  then  on  the 
other,  wishing  from  his  heart  that  he  had  ever  done  more  to 
fill  the  vacant  place  of  which  that  black  dress  spoke.  Such 
a  purpose  had  often  been  formed,  but  when  it  came  to  the 
point  there  was  always  some  hindrance.  He  had  not  learned 
yet  how  hard  it  is  to  obey  the  second  great  command  while 
disregarding  the  first. 

'  Then  do  you  think  you  will  give  me  a  sleigh-ride, 
Thornton  ? '  said  Hulda,  emboldened  by  something  in  his 
face  to  press  her  request. 

'  Half  a  dozen,  if  there  is  snow  enough.' 

(  0  that  is  very  good  of  you  ! '  said  Hulda,  '  because  Alie 
don't  like  to  go  alone.  I  guess  there'll  be  snow  enough — I 
mean  I  think  there  will, — I  saw  one  baker's  sleigh  go 
by.' 

'  Which  proves  nothing  concerning  my  runners,'  said 
Thornton,  as  he  seated  himself  at  the  breakfast  table. 
*  Bakers  have  a  facility  of  enjoyment  which  belongs  to  few 
other  people.' 


SLEIGHS.  65 

(  Have  they  ?  '  said  Hulda.  c  But  here  comes  another 
sleigh — I  hear  the  bells.' 

'  And  a  remarkably  slow  tinkle  they  make,'  said  Thorn 
ton, — '  I'll  wager  something  that's  a  coal  man.  It's  a  sin 
gular  fact  that  everybody  is  out  of  fuel  as  soon  as  a  storm 
comes.' 

'  Yes  it  is  a  charcoal  man,'  said  Hulda — l  all  white  and 
black.  And  here  comes  somebody  else.' 

1  Somebody  else  had  better  come  here,'  said  her  sister, 
'  or  more  than  breakfast  will  get  cold.' 

1  I'll  come — '  said  the  child,  getting  down  with  some  re 
luctance  from  the  chair  where  she  had  been  kneeling,  and 
taking  a  last  peep  out  of  the  window, — '  but  it  looks  so  nice 
out, — and  the  people  look  so  funny, — just  let  me  see  what 
this  one  sleigh  is — 0  such  a  queer  one  !  like  a  little  old 
coach  without  any  wheels.  And  it's  stopping  at  our  door ! 
— 0  Alie,  I  do  believe  it's  Miss  Bettie  Morsel ! ' 

And  the  next  act  being  like  to  come  off  within  doors, 
Hulda  came  to  her  breakfast. 

The  queer  sleigh,  which  was  in  truth  but  a  coach-body 
on  runners,  drew  up  at  the  door  as  she  had  said.  A  most 
literal  drawing-up  ! — the  driver  tugging  at  his  horse  till  both 
were  slanted  back  at  no  inconsiderable  angle.  Then  the 
driver  got  down  and  clapped  his  hands  once  or  twice,  and 
the  horse  shook  his  head  to  make  sure  he  was  all  right 
again, — a  fact  attested  by  a  miserable  little  bell  that  hung 
about  him — somewhere.  And  the  coach-body  door  being  at 
length  opened,  a  little  dark  figure  darted  out  through  the 
white  medium  and  up  the  steps.  But  her  ring  was  by  no 
means  in  accordance  with  so  fierce  a  beginning.  It  was  a 
kind  of  gentle  intimation  that  if  it  was  all  the  same  to  every 
body,  she  would  like  to  come  in — a  mere  suggestion  that 
perhaps  there  might  be  somebody  outside  in  the  snow, — a 


66  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

ring  which  a  thorough-bred  waiter  of  the  present  day  would 
go  to  sleep  over,  and  dream  of  visitors. 

But  Martha  Jumps,  who  was  on  duty  while  Tom  carried 
buckwheats  into  the  breakfast  room,  and  whose  eyes,  ears, 
and  understanding  were  always  wide  awake, — dropped  her 
duster,  settled  her  cap,  and  went  to  the  door.  And  having 
presently  detailed  her  message  to  Tom,  Tom  entered  the 
breakfast-room  and  said, 

'  Miss  Morsel,  sir.' 

*  What  the  deuce  have  I  to  do  with  Miss  Morsel  ?  '  said 
Thornton.  '  Why  don't  you  tell  your  mistress  ?  ' 

Tom  coloured  up  to  his  eyes  but  replied, 

'  That's  what  Martha  said  sir — she  said  she  wanted  to  sec 
you.' 

'  Martha  humbugs  you  Tom,  about  ten  times  a  day.  But 
shew  Miss  Morsel  in  here,  and  then,  she  can  suit  herself.' 

'  And  give  me  another  cup  and  saucer,'  said  his  mistress. 
'  Is  the  parlour  fire  burning  ? ' 

'  Well — pretty  smart,'  said  Tom  doubtfully, — {  not  over 
and  above.' 

£  Never  mind,  ask  Miss  Morsel  to  walk  in  here.'  And 
meeting  her  visitor  at  the  door,  Rosalie  explained  to  her 
how  she  thought  the  warmest  room  was  the  best  that 
morning. 

c  So  good  of  you  !  '  said  Miss  Morsel,  who  was  a  benign, 
anxious-looking,  somewhat  care-worn  little  personage.  '  Yes 
it  is  rather  cold  this  morning — the  wind  blows  quite  keen.' 
And  she  shivered  in  her  winter  habiliments,  which  were 
none  of  the  thickest.' 

'  It  is  particularly  cold  at  this  time  in  the  morning,' 
said  Kosalie,  as  she  brought  Miss  Morsel  round  to  the  side 
of  the  table  next  the  fire.  '  You  must  sit  down  and  take 
some  breakfast  with  us.' 


MISS    MORSEL.  67 

'0  no  my  dear — thank  you,  I  can't  indeed.' 

'  Not  a  cup  of  coffee  ?  ' 

'  Well,  a  single  cup — '  said  Miss  Morsel,  her  face  bright 
ening  up  under  bright  influences — for  it  was  a  wonderfully 
pleasant  thing  to  be  so  gently  put  into  that  comfortable 
chair  by  the  fire.  '  I  believe  I  must  take  a  single  cup — and 
only  one  lump  of  sugar  if  you  please.  It  don't  matter  much 
about  the  size  of  it,  but  not  more  than  one  lump.  I  came 
out  this  morning — queer,  isn't  it  ? — but  I  came  out  to  see 
your  brother.  Captain  Thornton,  is  it  a  true  statement  of 
facts  that  the  city's  bombarded  ?  ' 

'  Not  unless  the  reports  have  deafened  my  ears,'  said 
Thornton,  fortifying  himself  with  half  a  cup  of  coffee  before 
he  spoke.  1 1  have  heard  nothing  of  it.' 

'  Well  I  thought  it  couldn't  be,'  said  Miss  Morsel,  look 
ing  very  much  relieved,  c  for  I've  heard  nothing  of  it  either  ; 
only  last  night  a  boy  was  screaming  about  the  streets.  It's 
astonishing  to  me  that  boys  are  suffered  to  go  at  large  as 
they  are.' 

'  Instead  of  shutting  them  up  like  any  other  wild  ani 
mals,'  said  Thornton. 

1  That's  just  what  I  said  to  ma,'  said  Miss  Morsel,  ( that 
it  ought  to  be, — and  she  said  it  never  used  to  be  in  her 
time,  that  boys  never  were  wild  then  nor  girls  neither.  It 
was  ma  that  was  so  scared  last  night,  for  she  always  thinks 
something  is  going  to  happen  to  her,  though  I  tell  her  she's 
just  as  liable  to  live  as  I  am.  No  my  dear — no  more.  It's 
really  a  shame  to  eat  two  breakfasts,  though  to  be  sure 
something  depends  upon  how  much  a  person  took  at  the 
first.' 

<  0  have  another  cup  ! '  said  Thornton,  c  and  you'll  stand 
the  bombardment  better.' 

c  I  don't  know  about  that,'  said  Miss  Morsel,  but  hand- 


G8  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

ing  her  cup  at  the  same  time, — ( it  seems  too  bad  to  enjoy 
oneself  now-a-days.  It's  a  good  thing  we're  none  of  us  mar 
ried  people,  for  separations  in  families  are  dreadful;  and 
gentlemen  are  the  property  of  the  government  now,  I  sup 
pose,  to  have  and  to  hold,  as  the  saying  is.' 

It  was  hard  to  tell  which  was  most  discomposed  by  this 
speech — Tom  or  his  master. 

1  Are  married  people  essential  to  your  idea  of  a  family  ?  ' 
said  Rosalie  smiling. 

1  Certainly,'  said  the  little  woman  gravely.  '  Now  for 
instance — I  can't  call  myself  a  family  you  know, — it  would 
be  absurd.' 

*  Most  true,'  said  Thornton.     c  But  here  Rosalie  and  I 
have  a  family  Miss  Morsel,  and  if  either  of  us  should   get 
married  it  would  break  it  up  at  once.' 

'  0  dear  ! '  said  Miss  Morsel.     '  How  could  that  be  ?  ' 

*  Why,  not  to  go  any  further,'  said  Thornton,  '  Rosalie 
is  so  fond  of  having  the  upper  hand,  that  she  never  would 
endure  to  see  my  wife  manage  me.' 

'  But  your  wife  would  be  a  very  nice  person,  of  course, 
said  Miss  Morsel,  '  and — dear  me  !  that  is  a  great  pity.  I 
always  thought  you  would  all  live  together  so  delightfully. 
I  declare  it  has  quite  spoiled  my  breakfast — though  to  be 
sure  I  had  eaten  all  I  could.' 

'  It  must  have  been  the  bombardment,'  said  Thornton 
laughing. 

'  Well  maybe,'  said  Miss  Morsel.  '  But  now  Captain 
Thornton,  what  is  the  news,  really  ?  ' 

'  Ptedlly  Miss  Morsel,  there  isn't  much.  Bonaparte  has 
blown  up  the  Kremlin  and  left  Moscow,  and  Lord  Wellington 
has  left  Madrid — that's  the  last  news  from  Europe.  Out 
west  here  the  Indians  have  been  defeated  and  Tecumseh 
taken  prisoner ;  and  nearer  home  still,  one  of  our  harbours 
is  blockaded  by  a  gun  brig,  a  74,  and  two  frigates.' 


NEW   YORK    BLOCKADED.  69 

*  What  is  a  gun  brig  ?  '  said  Miss  Morsel, — '  a  brig  load 
ed  with  guns  ?  ' 

1  Sounds  enough  like  it,'  said  Thornton. 
c  What  a  dreadful  thing  it  must  be  to  be  blockaded ! 
said  Miss  Morsel.     '  Which  harbour  is  it  ?  ' 

*  Our  own  here — of  New  York.' 

*  New  York  harbour  blockaded  ! '  exclaimed  Miss  Morsel. 
'  And  has  the  bay  and  Staten  Island  and  Fort  Hamilton,  and 
all  those  beautiful  places  come  into  possession  of  the  British  V 

1  I  wish  they  had,'  said  Thornton.  '  Never  mind  Miss 
Morsel, — there  are  a  good  many  guns  between  you  and  them 
yet.  Tom  bring  some  more  cakes.' 

'  What  will  they  do  there  ? '  said  Miss  Morsel  curiously. 

'  Find  out  how  little  of  our  bread  and  butter  comes  that 
way,  maybe,'  said  Thornton.  *  Miss  Morsel —  you  have  not 
half  fortified  yourself  for  a  siege.' 

'  0  dear  ! '  said  poor  Miss  Morsel.  <  If  I  thought  I  was 
ever  to  be  besieged  and  taken,  I  shouldn't  eat  another  ounce 
from  now  till  then.  You  don't  really  think  there's  any 
danger  ? ' 

'  Not  a  bit ! '  said  Thornton  laughing.  '  I  should  like  to 
see  anybody  attempt  it !  I'll  let  you  know  a  week  before 
hand,  Miss  Morsel,  and  you  can  put  up  your  defences.' 

c  Thank  you — I'm  sure  you're  very  kind,'  said  Miss 
Morsel, '  but  then  you  know  we  haven't  got  any.  We  never 
did  have  anything  that  could  be  called  arms  in  our  house. 
But  I  must  go — it's  so  warm  here  and  pleasant  that  I  believe 
I  forgot  there  was  anybody  out  in  the  cold.  Poor  man ! ' 
said  Miss  Morsel  looking  out  at  her  driver,  *  I  daresay  he's 
been  clapping  his  hands  this  whole  time,  and  not  for  joy, 
either.  It  was  very  extravagant  in  me  to  ride,  but  I  wanted 
to  know  so  much  about  things, — and  I  can't  always  keep 
warm  in  the  snow — and  I'm  afraid  to  take  cold,  you  know, 
for  ma's  sake.' 


68  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

ing  her  cup  at  the  same  time, — ( it  seems  too  bad  to  enjoy 
oneself  now-a-days.  It's  a  good  thing  we're  none  of  us  mar 
ried  people,  for  separations  in  families  are  dreadful;  and 
gentlemen  are  the  property  of  the  government  now,  I  sup 
pose,  to  have  and  to  hold,  as  the  saying  is.' 

It  was  hard  to  tell  which  was  most  discomposed  by  this 
speech — Tom  or  his  master. 

'  Are  married  people  essential  to  your  idea  of  a  family  ?  ' 
said  Rosalie  smiling. 

1  Certainly,'  said  the  little  woman  gravely.  '  Now  for 
instance — I  can't  call  myself  a  family  you  know, — it  would 
be  absurd.' 

'  Most  true,'  said  Thornton.  '  But  here  Rosalie  and  I 
have  a  family  Miss  Morsel,  and  if  either  of  us  should  get 
married  it  would  break  it  up  at  once.' 

1  0  dear  ! '  said  Miss  Morsel.     '  How  could  that  be  ?  ' 

'  Why,  not  to  go  any  further,'  said  Thornton,  '  Rosalie 
is  so  fond  of  having  the  upper  hand,  that  she  never  would 
endure  to  see  my  wife  manage  me.' 

'  But  your  wife  would  be  a  very  nice  person,  of  course, 
said  Miss  Morsel,  c  and — dear  me  !  that  is  a  great  pity.  I 
always  thought  you  would  all  live  together  so  delightfully. 
I  declare  it  has  quite  spoiled  my  breakfast — though  to  be 
sure  I  had  eaten  all  I  could.' 

'  It  must  have  been  the  bombardment,'  said  Thornton 
laughing. 

'  Well  maybe,'  said  Miss  Morsel.  {  But  now  Captain 
Thornton,  what  is  the  news,  really  1  ' 

'  R,etilly  Miss  Morsel,  there  isn't  much.  Bonaparte  has 
blown  up  the  Kremlin  and  left  Moscow,  and  Lord  Wellington 
has  left  Madrid — that's  the  last  news  from  Europe.  Out 
west  here  the  Indians  have  been  defeated  and  Tecumseh 
taken  prisoner ;  and  nearer  home  still,  one  of  our  harbours 
is  blockaded  by  a  gun  brig,  a  74,  and  two  frigates.' 


NEW   YORK    BLOCKADED.  69 

*  What  is  a  gun  brig  ?  '  said  Miss  Morsel, — '  a  brig  load 
ed  with  guns  ?  ' 

'  Sounds  enough  like  it,'  said  Thornton. 

1  What  a  dreadful  thing  it  must  be  to   be  blockaded ! 
said  Miss  Morsel.     {  Which  harbour  is  it  ?  ' 

'  Our  own  here — of  New  York.' 

1  New  York  harbour  blockaded  ! '  exclaimed  Miss  Morsel. 
{ And  has  the  bay  and  Staten  Island  and  Fort  Hamilton,  and 
all  those  beautiful  places  come  into  possession  of  the  British  ?' 

'  I  wish  they  had,'  said  Thornton.  '  Never  mind  Miss 
Morsel, — there  are  a  good  many  guns  between  you  and  them 
yet.  Tom  bring  some  more  cakes.' 

1  What  will  they  do  there  ? '  said  Miss  Morsel  curiously. 

'  Find  out  how  little  of  our  bread  and  butter  comes  that 
way,  maybe,'  said  Thornton.  '  Miss  Morsel —  you  have  not 
half  fortified  yourself  for  a  siege.' 

'  0  dear  !  '  said  poor  Miss  Morsel.  '  If  I  thought  I  was 
ever  to  be  besieged  and  taken,  I  shouldn't  eat  another  ounce 
from  now  till  then.  You  don't  really  think  there's  any 
danger  ? ' 

*  Not  a  bit ! '  said  Thornton  laughing.     '  I  should  like  to 
see  anybody  attempt  it !     I'll  let  you  know  a  week  before 
hand,  Miss  Morsel,  and  you  can  put  up  your  defences.' 

1  Thank  you — I'm  sure  you're  very  kind,'  said  Miss 
Morsel, '  but  then  you  know  we  haven't  got  any.  We  never 
did  have  anything  that  could  be  called  arms  in  our  house. 
But  I  must  go — it's  so  warm  here  and  pleasant  that  I  believe 
I  forgot  there  was  anybody  out  in  the  cold.  Poor  man ! ' 
said  Miss  Morsel  looking  out  at  her  driver,  *  I  daresay  he's 
been  clapping  his  hands  this  whole  time,  and  not  for  joy, 
either.  It  was  very  extravagant  in  me  to  ride,  but  I  wanted 
to  know  so  much  about  things, — and  I  can't  always  keep 
warm  in  the  snow — and  I'm  afraid  to  take  cold,  you  know, 
for  ma's  sake.' 


*70  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  You  have  not  learned  much,  after  all,'  said  Thornton. 
c  0  a  great  deal !    You  say  Cumsetah's  certainly  taken  ?  ' 

I  Tecumseh  ?  '  said  Rosalie  with 'a  kind  smile.     '  Yes,  I 
saw  the  account  myself.' 

'  Thank  you  my  dear- — and  for  telling  me  the  man's  real 
name  again, — I'm  so  apt  to  forget.  But  youe'r  so  good — 
and  I  do  like  to  get  things  straight,  though  you  wouldn't 
think  it.  Tecumseh — I  sha'n't  forget — you  spoke  it  so  dis 
tinctly  for  me.  Do  you  know  I  always  do  understand  what 
you  say  ?  Some  people  confuse  me  so, — and  then  I  get  hold 
of  the  wrong  ball  of  yarn  and  begin  at  the  toe  of  my  stock 
ing.  Tecumseh — but  who  took  him?  ' 

'  One  of  Harrison's  officers,'  said  Thornton.  '  But  mind 
you  tell  the  story  to-day,  Miss  Morsel,  for  he'll  probably 
escape  before  to-morrow.' 

'  Dreadful  creature  ! '  said  Miss  Morsel, — '  I  hope  not. 
I  hope  they'll  take  good  care  of  him  though.  Thank  you 
my  dear  very  much — your  coffee  was  excellent.' 

I 1  will  try  to  have  it  just  as  good  whenever  you  will 
come  and   breakfast   with  us,'    said  Rosalie  as  she   shook 
hands  with  her  poor  little  guest.     *  I  wish  you  would  come 
oftener.' 

'  I'm  sure  you  do  ! '  said  Miss  Morsel  earnestly ;  '  and 
there  isn't  much  else  in  the  world  I  am  sure  of.  But  you're 
like  nobody  else, — such  Christmas  presents  and  all, — and  I 
haven't  said  a  word  about  them — because  I  couldn't.  I 
don't  know  now — were  they  yours  or  your  brother's  ? ' 

c  Not  mine,'  said  Thornton, — '  Rosalie  does  everything 
good  that  is  done  in  this  house.  But  mine  shall  come,  Miss 
Morsel, — I  shall  remember  it  now,  as  surely  as  you  will 
Tecumseh.' 

'  Tecumseh — yes,  I'll  remember.  But  you  are  all  so 
good — to  let  me  come  and  talk,  talk, — not  a  bit  like  rich 


LIKE   NOBODY   ELSE.  71 

people, — and  it's  such  a  comfort  sometimes;, — and  smile  at 
me  just  as  sweetly  when  I  come  as  when  I  go.  0  there'll 
be  one  blessing  upon  your  heads  if  words  can  call  it  down  ! ' 

And  she  slid  out  of  the  room  ; '  while  Thornton  having 
found  out  that  he  did  not  want  to  go  and  put  her  in  the  old 
coach-body,  went — and  made  her  perfectly  happy  thereby. 

'  Not  quite  all  the  good  that  is  done  in  this  house,'  said 
his  sister,  meeting  him  when  he  came  back  with  a  look  that 
was  worth  the  purchase. 

'  The  Sun  has  as  much  to  do  with  the  Moon's  light  as 
with  his  own,'  said  Thornton  rather  sadly.  '  I  am  dark 
enough  when  I  am  turned  away  from  you,  Alie.  You  never 
turn  from  me — like  a  blessed  child  as  you  are,' 


72  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER 


CHAPTER  IX. 

But,  brother,  let  your  reprehension 

Bun  in  an  easy  current,  not  o'er  high, 

Carried  with  rashness,  or  devouring  choler; 

But  rather  use  the  soft  persuading  way. — BEX  JoNBOJT. 

A  FINE  body  of  snow  lay  on  the  ground.  White,  white, — 
cheerful  and  cold, — the  trees  rearing  through  the  still  air 
their  part  of  the  earth's  burden ;  the  sky  in  dazzling  contrast 
to  the  bright  roofs  on  which  the  sun  poured  down  his  full 
complement  of  rays, — in  vain ; — the  snow  laughed  at  them. 
A  very  merry  laugh  if  it  was  a  cold  one. 

The  side-walks  were  cleared  and  dry ;  for  in  those  unso 
phisticated  days  laws  were  not  only  made  but  enforced  ;  and 
foot-passengers  went  comfortably  along  in  their  sphere  of 
action,  while  a  host  of  sleighs  swept  by  in  theirs.  Neither 
division  of  the  public  crowded  into  an  undistinguishable 
throng  as  now, — both  people  and  sleighs  had  a  pretty  set 
ting  of  air  and  snow, — then  was  it  easy  to  see  and  to  bo 
seen. 

In  this  reign  of  fur  and  velvet,  cloth  boots  and  wadded 
cloaks,  the  merging  is  a  less  matter ;  but  when  the  weaker 
sex  protected  themselves  with  white  dresses  and  stockings  to 
match,  and  shoes  that  matched  anything  but  the  season, — 
when  high-coloured  and  fly-away  little  capes  were  the  best 
defence  that  the  Commander-in-chief  of  the  feminine  forces 


A   WINTER   CAMPAIGN.  73 

allowed  during  a  winter  campaign, — then  elbow-room  was  a 
thing  of  some  moment.  It  would  have  been  intolerable  to 
have  one's  own  scarlet  wings  confounded  with  a  neighbour 
ing  pair  of  blue,  and  so  to  present  the  general  appearance 
of  a  two-headed  butterfly  somewhat  diversified  as  to  his 
pinions ;  or  worse  still,  to  have  no  room  for  them  to  fly  at 
all.  But  no  such  misfortune  befell  the  ladies  of  1813, — 
the  field  was  clear,  and  spotted  with  butterflies  as  a  field 
should  be — each  in  its  turn  'the  observed  of  all  observers.' 

Thornton's  horses  were  shaking  their  heads  and  jingling 
their  bells  at  his  door ;  snorting,  and  pawing  the  snow,  and 
putting  their  heads  together  with  every  symptom  of  readi 
ness  and  impatience, — the  white  foam  frozen  in  a  thick  crust 
upon  mouth  and  bit,  the  sun  glancing  from  every  metallic 
spot  on  the  bright  harness.  On  the  steps  stood  Mr  Clyde 
himself,  in  much  the  same  mood  as  his  horses, — the  minute- 
hand  of  his  watch  seeming  to  mark  the  hours.  One  butter 
fly  after  another  sailed  down  the  street — or  fluttered,  as  the 
case  might  be ;  now  beating  about  in  the  cool  wind,  and 
then  bearing  down  wing-and-wing  upon  the  enemy;  and 
soon  espying  Mr.  Clyde's  position,  gracefully  inclined  its 
pretty  head  that  way,  and  glanced  at  the  gay  horses.  And 
Mr.  Clyde's  arms  being'  for  the  tenth  time  forced  from 
their  position  to  return  such  courtesies,  enwrapped  them 
selves  thereafter  more  closely  than  ever ;  and  when  the 
closing  of  the  .hall  door  drew  his  attention,  he  turned 
sharply  round, 

No  butterfly  stood  there — and  yet  it  might  have  been  a 
creature  with  wings ;  but  not  such  as  are  ever  spread  on 
earth  except  to  fly  away  withal. 

1  What  wonder  will  come  next  1 '  she  said  smiling. 
*  Thornton  and  his  horses  both  here  five  minutes  before 
the  time  ! ' 

4 


76  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

white  snow  with  a  sort  of  dainty  regularity  and  precision ; 
while  the  large  grave-coloured  and  most  comfortable  looking 
sleigh,  followed  on  at  a  pleasant  but  not  breathless  rate. 
The  smile  of  the  good  quakeress  to  Rosalie  was  refreshing 
to  see — so  very  bright  and  heartfelt. 

Thornton  however  thought  differently,  for  after  convey 
ing  to  his  horses  a  very  imperative  request  that  they 
would  go  faster,  he  saw  fit  to  express  his  distaste  in 
words. 

(  I  wish  I  could  ever  go  through  Broadway  without 
meeting  that  turn-out ! '  he  said. 

'  What  is  a  turn-out  ?  '  said  Hulda  whose  eyes  were 
already  half  shut. 

*  I  don't  care  much  about  it  when  I  am  alone,'  Thornton 
went  on  without  noticing  her,  '  but  when  you  are  with  me  I 
always  get  provoked.' 

1  That  is  unfortunate,'  said  Rosalie  smiling.  '  If  I  am 
such  a  magnet  for  disagreeableness  I  had  better  stay  at 
home.  I  hope  you  don't  get  provoked  at  me  ? 7 

*  You  always  will  look  so  pleased  to  see  her,'  he  said 
gloomily. 

'  So  I  am — I  like  her  very  much.' 

'  But  I  don't — there's  the  thing.  And  she  looks  at  you 
just  as  I  saw  you  once  when  you  were  a  little  child  look  at 
a  canary  bird  in  the  hands  of  a  school  boy.  And  I  say  it 
provokes  me.' 

'  What  an  imagination  you  have  ! '  said  his  sister  laugh 
ing.  { I  noticed  the  particular  pleasantness  of  her  look  to 
wards  you.' 

'  She  had  no  business  to  look  at  me,'  said  Thornton.  'I 
don't  know  her  and  I  don't  want  to.' 

<  The  next  time  you  come  out,'  said  Rosalie  raising  her 
bright  eyes  to  his  face,  '  I'll  write  a  placard  for  the  front  of 
your  cap—'  Ladies  will  please  keep  their  eyes  off.' ' 


ANTIPATHIES.  77 

'  You  are  a  saucy  girl,'  said  her  brother,  whose  dis 
pleasure  was  however  evaporating.  {  Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  Mrs.  Raynor  did  not  think  to  herself  what  a  poor  for 
lorn  child  you  were,  and  how  much  better  off  you  would  be 
in  her  sleigh  than  in  mine  ? ' 

1  She  has  called  me  a  poor  child  very  often,  but  not 
from  any  such  reason,'  said  Rosalie,  as  the  thought  of  the 
true  one  fell  like  a  shadow  upon  her  face.  (  And  she  knows 
v%ry  little  of  me,  Thornton,  if  she  thinks  that  I  wish  myself 
out  of  your  sleigh,  or  that  I  have  one  thought  in  my  heart 
about  you  I  am  unwilling  you  should  know.' 

'  There  are  several  I  don't  wish  to  know,'  said  Thornton, 
— 1 1  doubt  some  of  them  might  make  me  feel  uncomfortable. 
But  I  wish  you  would  pull  that  veil  back  again  Alie,  for  I 
have  somehow  got  an  uneasy  notion  that  I  am  *fche  wind 
blowing  in  your  face.' 

'  You  are  full  of  notions  to-day  •  but  the  wind  does  not 
trouble  me  at  all  now  that  we  have  turned.  How  pleasant, 
it  has  been  !  I  have  enjoyed  it  so  much.' 

'Really?' 

'Really.' 

Thornton  looked  pleased. 

'I  have  enjoyed  it  too,  very  much — with  one  or  two 
drawbacks.' 

'  How  did  you  ever  get  such  a  dislike  to  so  excellent  a 
person  as  Mrs.  Raynor  ?  '  said  his  sister,  as  she  arranged 
the  little  sleeping  Hulda  in  a  more  comfortable  position. 
1  You  do  not  know  her — and  surely  you  never  heard  anything 
but  good  of  her.' 

*  Never — I  wish  I  had.  If  any  one  else  would  speak  of 
her  with  a  qualification  perhaps  I  should  not.  I  hate  theso 
dreadfully  precise  people.' 

(  0  she  is  not  a  bit  precise  ! '  cried  his  sister — '  not  a 


78  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

bit !  Of  course  a  quaker  must  talk  after  the  quaker  fashion, 
but  her  heart  is  as  free  as  a  child's.' 

1  Well  that  is  a  good  thing  about  a  heart,  certainly,' 
said  Thornton  with  a  meditative  air.  l  But  however  it  may 
be,  the  sight  of  her  always  gives  me  an  uncomfortable 
sensation.  I  believe  she  reminds  me  of  her  son,  and  him  I 
do  know.' 

*  And  do  not  like  ?  ' 

<  No '  * 

<  Why  not  ?  ' 

'  I  could  give  a  very  straight  answer  on  the  subject,'  said 
the  young  man  with  a  glance  at  his  sister's  face.  '  but  per 
haps  it's  as  well  not.  In  general,  he  don't  like  me  and  I 
don't  like  him — nor  his  pursuits.' 

'  Did^ou  ever  hear  that  they  were  anything  but  credit 
able  ? '  said  Rosalie  turning  a  startled  look  upon  him. 

'  What  is  it  to  you  whether  they  are  or  not  ?  ' 

'  Making  the  profession  he  does,  I  should  be  exceedingly 
sorry  to  think  that  he  had  disgraced  it.  Did  you  ever  see 
or  hear  anything  to  make  you  think  so  ? ' 

'  Never — '  said  Thornton  briefly. 

And  no  more  words  were  spoken  till  they  were  at  home 
again. 

The  sleigh  with  black  horses  was  at  the  door  in  five 
minutes  after  their  own  arrival,  and  Rosalie  was  called 
down  to  see  her  friend  '  for  a  single  moment  only,'  before 
she  had  time  to  do  more  than  throw  off  her  wrappers.  And 
when  she  came  into  the  parlour,  her  hair  a  little  brushed 
back  by  the  wind,  and  the  glow  of  exercise  and  fresh  air 
yet  in  her  cheeks,  the  good  quakeress  took  her  in  her  arms 
and  kissed  her  more  than  once  before  she  spoke. 

( I  was  so  glad  to  see  thee  out,'  she  said, — '  it  is  so  good 
for  thee.  And  how  dost  thou  now,  dear  child  ?  better  ? 


79 

Art  thou  learning  to  cast  all  thy  care  upon  the  strong  hand 
that  will  not  let  it  press  thy  little  weak  heart  too  heavily  1 ' 

The  trembling  lips  could  hardly  answer, 

'  Sometimes.' 

*  "  I  have  chosen  thee  in  the  furnace  of  affliction"  ' — said 
her  friend  tenderly.  '  Chosen  thee,  love — not  cast  thee  out 
thither.  Thee  must  remember  that.  And  also  that  other 
verse  which  saith,  "  Rejoice  in  the  Lord  alway"  Now  tell 
me — how  doth  thy  sister  1 ' 

'  0  quite  well  again.' 

1  And  thy  brother — I  saw  him  with  thee  even  now.  He 
hath  thine  eyes,  Rosalie,  but  more  self-willed.  I  love  him 
for  thy  sake — ye  are  so  much  alike.' 

But  Rosalie's  smile  was  like  nobody  but  herself. 

'  And  you  are  well  again,  too  ?  '  she  said,  as  she  sat  on 
a  low  seat  by  her  friend,  looking  up  at  her  with  the  intense 
pleasure  of  having  even  for  a  moment  comfort  and  counsel 
from  one  older  than  herself. 

c  Yes  my  child — or  at  the  least  so  well  that  I  am  going 
away, — that  is  wherefore  thou  seest  me  now,  and  but  an  in 
stant  have  I  to  stay.  A  week  or  two  I  shall  be  with  my 
sister,  which  shall  pleasure  and  I  trust  profit  us  both ;  and 
then  shall  I  return  again  to  wait.' 

What  for,  the  quakeress  did  not  say,  but  she  rose  and 
took  Rosalie  in  her  arms  as  she  had  done  before. 

'  Fare  thee  well,  dear  child  !  and  the  best  of  all  bless 
ings  be  upon  thee.  "  There  be  many  that  say,  '  Who  will 
shew  us  any  good  ? '  Lord  lift  thou  up  the  light  of  thy 
countenance  upon  us  ! '" 

*  0  that  it  might  be  upon  us  ! '  Rosalie  thought,  as  she 
came  back  from  the  front  door  and  went  slowly  up  stairs  to 
dress.  l  Will  that  day  ever  come  ? '  And  then  she  remem 
bered, 


80  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

"  /  had  fainted,  unless  I  had  believed  to  see  the  good 
ness  of  the  Lord  in  the  land  of  the  living" 

1  And  what  had  your  dear  friend  to  say  to  you  ?  '  in 
quired  Thornton  when  he  came  to  dinner. 

1  Not  much — just  to  bid  me  goodbye.  She  is  going 
away  for  a  few  days.' 

'  Charming  !  We  will  go  sleigh -riding  every  day.  I 
shall  take  this  opportunity  to  give  my  canary  bird  plenty  of 
fresh  air  and  exercise.'  -  . 

'  Your  canary  bird  is  much  obliged  to  you  for  being 
glad  when  she  is  sorry,'  said  his  sister  smiling. 

c  Truly  you  are  sorry  sometimes  when  I  am  glad,'  said 
Thornton. 

'  When  the  question  is  of  things  that  do  you  mischief.' 

'I  wonder 'how  you  are  to  judge  of  that?'  said  he 
laughing  and  patting  her  cheek.  '  Methinks  your  censor 
ship  is  getting  a  little  rampant.  Don't  you  suppose  now, 
my  fair  monitor,  that  if  you  went  out  a  little  more  I  should 
go  out  a  little  less  ? — that  if  you  sometimes  gave  me,  your 
company  abroad  I  should  oftener  give  you  mine  at  home  ? ' 

1  You  know  I  have  had  enough  to  hinder  my  going  out.' 

(  Have  had — but  now  ?  ' 

There  was  enough,  now ;  but  after  a  moment's  struggle 
with  herself  Rosalie  looked  up  and  answered  cheerfully, 

'  I  will  go  with  you  wherever  you  wish  me  to  go.' 

'  Is  that  said  with  a  little  Catholic  reservation  to  your 
own  better  judgment  ?  ' 

'  No,  to  yours.  I  would  trust  you  pretty  implicitly  if 
you  once  took  the  responsibility  upon  yourself.' 

'  I  should  like  to  know  where  it  rests  now  ? '  said 
Thornton,  looking  half  amused  and  half  vexed.  '  If  you 
were  not  the  steadiest  little  mouse  that  ever  went  about 
from  corner  to  cupboard,  the  responsibility  would  be  pretty 


WILL  YOU  GO  TO  THE  THEATRE  ?       81 

well  thrown  upon  my  shoulders,  I  fancy.  I'll  take  it,  at  all 
events.  Will  you  go  with  me  to  the  theatre  to-night  ? ' 

1  0  I  am  not  obliged  to  answer  any  but  serious  proposi 
tions,'  said  she  smiling.  '  You  do  not  wish  me  to  go  with 
you  there — let  this  be  one  of  the  evenings  bestowed  upon 
me  at  home.' 

*  Why  shouldn't  I  wish  you  to  go  1  What  harm  will  it 
do  you  any  more  than  other  people  ? ' 

'  I  never  mean  to  try  and  find  out.  But  I  would  not  go 
if  I  knew  it  would  do  me  none.' 

1  Because  you  think  actors  must  necessarily  be  bad 
people  ? ' 

'  Not  necessarily  perhaps.  But  Thornton,  if  there  was 
a  gulf  over  which  but  one  in  a  hundred  could  leap,  while  all 
the  rest  were  dashed  to  pieces,  what  would  you  think  of  the 
rich  people  who  hired  them  to  try  ?  ' 

c  I  will  let  you  know  my  opinion  of  that  amusement 
when  it  is  advertised,'  said  her  brother.  '  But  I  tell  you 
Alie,  it's  of  no  use  to  compare  our  opinions — we  never  were 
meant  to  live  together.' 

She  laid  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  and  looked  up  at 
him  with  a  face  so  loving,  so  beseeching,  so  full  of  all  that 
she  could  not  say,  that  its  light  was  half  reflected.  Her 
whole  heart  was  in  that  look  ;  and  Thornton  felt  as  he  had 
never  felt  before,  how  true,  how  pure  a  heart  it  was — how 
unspeakably  reasonable  in  all  its  requests.  But  his  own 
unhumbled  nature,  the  blind  pride  which  will  serve  sin 
rather  than  God,  because  he  is  the  rightful  ruler  of  the 
universe,  rose  up  within  him  ;  and  silently  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  sister's  lips,  Thornton  disengaged  himself  and 

ttalked  away  to  the  dinner  table. 
4* 


82  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Jaques.  Let's  meet  as  little  as  we  can. 

Orlando.  I  do  desire  we  may  be  better  strangers. — As  You  Like  R. 

EVENING  found  Rosalie  alone  in  the  parlour.  She  had 
listened  to  her  brother's  departing  step  until  even  her 
fancy  could  hear  it  no  longer,  and  the  approaching  ones 
were  dull  now  and  void  of  interest.  The  sleigh-hells  jingled 
yet,  almost  as  merrily  as  ever,  but  with  a  somewhat  different 
effect ;  for  the  sun  had  taken  leave  of  the  cold  earth,  and 
Jack  Frost  had  sent  out  his  myrmidons.  The  little  beggar 
children  began  to  retreat  slowly  and  shivering  to  their  dens 
of  sin  and  sorrow ;  hopeless  of  anything  from  the  goers-by, 
whose  rapid  pace  they  could  hardly  check ;  and  home,  of 
one  sort  or  another,  seemed  to  be  in  everybody's  heart. 
Why  was  it  not  in  Thornton's  ? 

His  sister  would  have  been  comforted  to  know  that  it 
was  in  his  heart, — that  even  then,  as  he  met  a  party  of  gay 
friends  and  joined  their  walk,  he  remembered  the  one  being 
whom  he  had  never  wished  to  see  less  unspotted  from  the 
world  ; — more  pure,  to  his  fancy,  she  could  not  be.  He 
thought  of  her,  and  of  the  bright  pleasure  he  might  give 
and  take  where  she  was.  And  yet  he  came  not, — and  the 
soft  twilight  fell  gently  upon  her,  and  gay  lights  blazed 
down  upon  him.  Fit  emblems  of  the  spirit  of  each  heart. 


A  GENTLEMAN.  83 

The  one  a  "bright  artificial  glare, — in  the  other  a  mingling 
of  darkness  indeed,  but  what  light  there  was,  from  heaven  ! 

So  deep  was  Rosalie  in  her  own  reflections — devising 
ways  and  means  to  make  herself  more  agreeable  and  home 
more  attractive — that  a  ring  at  the  door  was  unnoticed ;  and 
it  was  not  till  Tom  announced, 

'  A  gentleman,  ma'am,' 

that  she  recollected  how  much  rather  she  would  be  alone. 
But  he  was  there,  and  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

A  young  man,  whose  character  lay  not  all  on  the  surface. 
His  aspect  was  singularly  grave  and  quiet — by  some  people 
called  morose ;  but  the  eye  from  its  calm  depth  sent  back  no 
shadow  of  misanthropy,  and  if  the  mouth  spoke  self  control 
it  spoke  with  sweetness.  And  when  a  smile  came — which 
indeed  was  not  very  often — the  person  in  the  world  who 
liked  him  least  would  have  done  something  to  'prolong  or  to 
bring  it  back.  There  was  also  about  him  a  singular  air  of 
power,  without  the  least  assumption  of  it.  It  was  the  sort 
of  fortress-like  strength,  the  sure  position  taken  and  held 
unshrinkingly  within  the  walls  of  truth  and  moral  courage  ; 
and  withal,  the  perfect  freedom  and  fearlessness  of  one  who 
has  himself  well  in  hand.  Able  too  he  seemed,  to  wage 
offensive  warfare — yet  he  rarely  did.  The  eye  might  fire 
and  the  cheek  glow,  and  that  sense  of  power  strike  disagree 
ably  upon  the  beholder ;  but  when  the  word  came,  it  came 
with  the  very  spirit  of  love  and  gentleness — and  was  the 
more  powerful.  The  effect  was  neither  hurt  feeling  nor 
wounded  pride, — the  effort  was  not  to  destroy  but  to  build 
up.  Yet  for  this  very  thing,  so  unlike  themselves,  many 
of  his  own  age  disliked  and  shunned  him.  They  could  not 
endure  to  trust  a  man  thoroughly  because  his  face  com 
manded  that  trust;  nor  to  feel  themselves  rebuked  by  his 
presence  when  he  had  not  uttered  a  word. 


84  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

For  a  moment,  in  the  darkness,  Rosalie  looked  with 
some  doubt  at  the  stranger  ;  but  she  had  quickly  met  him 
half  way,  with  a  look  of  great  pleasure  and  the  exclama 
tion, 

1  Mr.  Raynor  ! ' 

His  look  was  as  bright  and  more  demonstrative,  till  he 
saw  hers  change  and  every  particle  of  light  pass  from  it;  and 
not  guessing  the  associations  which  a  friend  so  long  unseen 
had  called  up,  not  knowing  what  had  taken  place  during  his 
absence;  Mr.  Raynor  said  with  more  anxious  haste  than 
caution, 

'  You  are  all  well  ?  your  brother  is  not  ordered  a,way  ?  ' 

*  No,  he  is  here  and  quite  well,'  she  said,  but  turning  a 
little  from  him. 

'  And  your  mother  ?  ' 

It  was  too  much.  The  heart's  cry  of  sorrow  was  sup 
pressed,  but  it  was  with  almost  passionate  bitterness  that 
Rosalie  threw  herself  down  on  a  seat,  exclaiming, 

1  Well  ?  0  yes  ! — it  is  well  with  her  !  But  for  that  my 
heart  would  have  broken  long  ago  ! ' 

He  understood  it  all  then, — his  eye  took  note  of  her 
dress — he  knew  what  some  lost  letters  would  have  told  him ; 
but  shocked,  grieved,  as  he  was,  a  few  minutes  passed  before 
he  knew  what  to  say  or  how  to  speak  it.  The  words  were 
spoken  then  with  that  quiet  steadiness  which  insensibly  gives 
strength. 

'  Yes,  it  is  well ! — Well  with  you  too,  my  dear  Miss 
Clyde — For  "  it  cannot  be  ill  with  him  whose  God  is  "  !  ' 

O  what  a  long  breath  answered  him  ! — of  weakness  and 
weariness  and  faith,  and  again  weakness  !  She  did  not  move 
nor  raise  her  head. 

*  Alie,'  said  little  Hulda  opening  the  door,  '  may  Tom 
get  some  New-year  cookies  for  tea,  or  would  you  rather  have 
only  dough-nuts  ? ' 


DOLLY   IN    THE   MUD.  85 

Mr.  Raynor  turned  quickly,  and  taking  a  chair  at  some 
distance  from  Rosalie  he  intercepted  the  little  intruder,  very 
much  to  her  dissatisfaction. 

1  Let  me  go,  sir,  if  you  please,'  she  said ;  struggling, 
though  very  politely,  to  get  away  from  the  arm  that  was 
round  her.  '  Please  sir  let  me  go  ! ' 

1  Not  quite  yet,'  he  said,  gently  placing  her  upon  his  lap 
and  kissing  her.  '  Have  you  quite  forgotten  me,  Hulda  ?  ' 

'  No  sir,  because  I  never  saw  you  before.' 

(  That  is  being  forgotten,  with  a  witness.  Did  you  never 
hear  of  a  little  girl  who  once  took  her  doll  out  to  ride,  and 
then  dropped  that  unfortunate  young  lady  from  the  carriage 
window  into  the  mud  ? ' 

1  0  yes !  '  said  Hulda,  '  indeed  I  have !  And  are  you 
the  nice  gentleman  that  picked  her  up  for  me,  sir  ?  ' 

'  I  had  the  pleasure  of  picking  her  up  for  you.  Whether 
I  am  nice  or  not  you  seem  to  be  a  little  doubtful.' 

'  0  I  remember  all  about  it !  '  said  the  child,  sitting  up 
now  with  a  pleased  and  interested  look.  '  I  haven't  thought 
of  it  in  a  great  while.  I  was  so  glad  dolly's  face  was  n't 
clear  down  in  the  mud — and  oh  the  mud  was  so  thick  !  And 
her  dress  was  all  black  in  front — do  you  remember  ?  ' 

1  No,  I  remember  nothing  about  her  dress.' 

'  Don't  you  ?  '  said  Hulda,  '  well  I  remember  perfectly 
well.  And  don't  you  remember  sir  how  the  other  gentleman 
laughed  because  I  loved  my  doll  so  much  ? ' 

'  Nay  I  think  that  was  not  the  reason  he  laughed.' 

'  0  yes  it  must  have  been,'  said  Hulda,  l  because  you 
know  there  was  nothing  else  to  laugh  at.  But  mayn't  I  go 
now,  sir  ?  I  want  to  speak  to  Alie.' 

1  I  don't  think  she  wants  you  half  so  much  as  I  do.  How 
many  new  dolls  have  you  had  since  then,  Hulda  ? ' 

'  0  I  haven't  had  any,'  said  she  smiling.  *  I've  got  the 
same  one  yet.  ' 


86  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1  You  must  be  a  careful  little  body,'  said  her  friend. 

'  Yes  I  suppose  I  am,'  said  Hulda  folding  her  hands  with 
a  grave  air,  as  if  she  had  been  about  fifty  ;  (  but  then  I  don't 
play  with  dolls  now  much — I  haven't  much  time.' 

1  Does  Miss  Rosalie  keep  you  so  busy  ?  I  should  hardly 
have  thought  that.' 

'  0  no,  sir,  that  isn't  the  reason — she'd  let  me  play  a 
great  deal.  But  then,'  said  Hulda,  looking  off  with  a  con 
templative  face,  '  I'd  rather  talk  to  her.  Thornton  always 
goes  out,  you  know,  and  so  she'd  be  all  alone  if  it  wasn't 
for  me.' 

A  shade  of  very  deep  displeasure  crossed  the  gentle 
man's  face  while  she  spoke ;  but  happily  absorbed  in  swing 
ing  her  little  feet  and  watching  the  shadows  that  flickered 
up  and  down  the  wall,  Hulda  saw  it  not.  Neither  did 
Rosalie,  whose  eyes  were  yet  shielded  by  her  hand.  But 
old  knowledge  of  the  face  and  character  supplied  the  want 
of  sight, — her  hand  was  taken  down  and  she  turned  and 
spoke. 

1  What  did  you  want  of  me,  Hulda  ? ' 

*  0 — only  about  the  cake  for  tea,'  said  Hulda  twisting 
herself  round.  '  Tom  didn't  know  whether  you  wanted  him 
to  get  some  New-year  cookies.' 

'  Send  for  what  you  like,  dear,  and  let  us  have  tea  at 
once.' 

And  Hulda  went, — wondering  very  much- at  the  kiss 
with  which  Mr.  Raynor  had  released  her  ;  it  was  such  a 
strange  kiss — she  could  not  tell  what  to  make  of  it.  Only 
it  seemed  to  Hulda  as  if  for  some  reason  or  other  the 
strange  gentleman  liked  her ;  and  she  began  to  like  him  in 
return  very  much. 

He  came  and  stood  before  the  fire  as  she  left  the  room, 
with  a  look  that  said  his  uppermost  thoughts  were  not  such 
as  could  be  spoken  nor  yet  easily  put  aside. 


MR.  RAYNOR'S  PASSAGE  HOME.  87 

1  You  were  expected  earlier  in  the  winter,  Mr.  Raynor,' 
said  Rosalie,  as  if  she  had  a  mind  they  should  at  least  not 
be  dwelt  upon. 

{  Yes,  much  earlier,'  he  said  sitting  down  by  her.  c  But 
I  am  not  accustomed  to  hear  '  Mr.  Raynor  '  from  your  lips, 
Miss  Rosalie, — before  I  went  away  it  was  '  Mr.  Henry.'  ' 

'  0  that  was  to  distinguish  you  from  Mr.  Penn,'  she  said 
•with  a  little  flush  that  came  somewhat  unwittingly. 

*  And  you  do  not  mean  to  distinguish  me  any  more  ?  ' 
She  did  not  look  to  see  what  he  meant — the  colour  that 

came  over  her  face  seemed  to  say  she  would  rather  not 
know ;  it  was  more  of  distress  than  embarrassment ;  and  she 
went  on  somewhat  hastily,  as  if  her  object  were  but  to  talk 
— not  to  say  any  particular  thing. 

1  My  help  is  hardly  needed  to  distinguish  people  that 
have  lived  so  long  abroad, — that  is  enough  in  this  age  of 
the  world.  But  how  grieved  Mrs.  Raynor  will  be  that  she 
has  lost  the  first  minutes  of  your  arrival !  She  is  quite  well 
— I  can  tell  you  that.  I  saw  her  only  this  morning,  and  she 
left  town  at  four  o'clock.' 

'  So  I  found  out  when  I  reached  the  house ;  and  my  next 
move  was  to  seek  some  way  of  following  her  to-night,  but  it 
was  too  larte.' 

'  She  has  wished  for  you  so  earnestly  !  I  think  it  was 
as  much  as  even  she  could  do  to  be  patient.' 

'  I  am  sure  it  was  more  than  I  could  do,'  said  the  young 
man,  who  was  apparently  carrying  on  some  under  current 
of  scrutiny  or  cogitation,  and  waiting  for  another  look, 
which  he  could  not  get.  '  My  passage  home  was  made  in 
four  different  ships,  and  I  left  all  my  patience  in  the  first. ' 

*  Four  different  ships  !     Then  you  really  did  see  some  of 
the  fighting  that  she  feared  so  much  ?  ' 

'  I  really  did  see  and  hear  a  good  deal  of  it — felt  a  little 


83  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

too.     When  we  were  two  days  out  from  Bordeaux,'  he  con 
tinued  with  no  reply  to  her  inquiring  look,  '  a  British  letter- 
of-marque  fell  in  with  us  and  took  possession  after  we  had 
run  as  hard  as  we  could  for  eleven  hours.     Part  of  the  men 
were  left  on  board  and  the  ship  ordered  for  England ;  while 
I  had  the  honor  of  being  cared   for — or  I  should  say  not 
cared  for — in  the  brig.     Then  came  up  the  Paul  Jones,  one 
of  our  privateers,  took  the  brig  and  burnt  her,  and  brought* 
me  home.' 

1  Unhurt  through  it  all  ?  ' 

'  Except  a  very  trifling  wound  from  a  splinter.' 

She  looked  up  then — one  quick,  earnest  look, — and 
Mr.  Raynor's  smile  said  that  he  had  got  just  what  he  wanted. 

'  I  must  go  now,'  he  said  quietly.  '  Some  business 
matters  need  attention,  and  there  will  be  scant  time  to  do 
anything  in  the  morning.  May  I  tell  my  mother  that  you 
are  well  ?  I  hardly  dare  venture  upon  that  unauthorized 
assertion.' 

1  0  yes — I  am  quite  well, — and  give  her  my  love,  Mr 
Raynor.' 

'  If  I  can  make  up  my  mind  to  part  with  it.' 

I  Good  evening,'  said  a  third  party  who  had  entered  the 
room.     '  Have  I  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Mr.  Raynor  ?  ' 

I 1  am  not  sure   sir,'  was   the   somewhat  grave  reply, 
though  accompanied  with  a  not  uncordial  shake  of  the  hand. 
'  But  good  evening  Mr.  Clyde — or  I  should  ratlier  sa}T,  how 
do  you  do,  after  so  long  a  break  in  our  intercourse.' 

How  well  Thornton  felt  that  whatever  cordiality  there 
might  be  in  the  salutation  was  for  Rosalie's  brother — not 
for  him.  Certainly  his  own  greeting  had  been  cold  enough. 

*  Tea's  ready,'  said  Hulda,  suddenly  adding  her  little 
person  to  the  group, — '  won't  you  come  ?  0  Thornton  ! — 
have  you  come  home  to  tea  £ — how  pleasant  that  will  be ! — 
there'll  be  four  of  us  ! '  - 


"TEA'S  READY/'  89 

Poor  little  Hulda !  she  might  have  said  anything  else 
her  brother  thought,  with  better  effect.  His  cheek  flushed 
with  displeasure  and  mortification,  and  there  was  a  minute 
of  awkward  silence.  Then  Rosalie  came  to  his  side,  and 
linking  her  arm  in  his — caressingly,  as  he  felt — she  said, 

'  Thornton,  cannot  you  persuade  Mr.  Raynor  to  drink 
tea  with  us  instead  of  going  home  to  take  it  alone  ? ' 

Thornton  felt  that  she  stood  by  him,  whoever  else  did 
not ;  and  with  a  blessing  in  his  heart  that  his  lips  did  not 
speak,  he  gave  the  invitation — as  he  would  have  done  any 
thing  else  that  she  had  asked  at  that  moment. 

Mr.  Raynor  looked  at  the  brother  and  sister  as  they  stood 
there,  and  though  something  of  the  shade  which  Hulda  had 
before  called  forth  came  back,  yet  his  face  unbent,  and  in 
his  answer  there  was  no  disturbing  element  unless  a  touch 
of  quiet  amusement. 

*  I  cannot  refuse  to  stay  at  your  request  Mr.  Clyde,  for 
I  know  you  came  because  you  thought  I  was  here.' 

And  Thornton  wondered  whether  his  guest  had  lately 
studied  witchcraft.  It  was  odd  too,  but  he  would  have 
given  anything  if  Mr.  Raynor  had  made  himself  less  abso 
lutely  pleasant  and  agreeable  for  the  next  hour.  In  a  half 
vexed  half  soothed  state  Thornton  remained  during  tea;  but 
when  Mr.  Raynor  had  gone  and  both  his  sisters  were  up-stairs, 
vexation  soon  got  the  upper  hand. 

1  Where  is  Hulda  ?•'  he  said  when  Rosalie  came  down. 

1  In  bed.' 

'  Well  that  is  a  comfort.  I  do  wish  you  would  teach  her 
to  hold"  her  tongue.  Her  way  of  saying  things  is  perfectly 
spiteful.' 

1  If  it  is  spiteful  to  be  glad  to  have  you  at  home,'  said 
his  sister  as  she  took  a  low  seat  by  him,  i  you  must  bestow 
that  epithet  on  me  too.' 


90  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

( Nonsense — glad  indeed !  What  do  you  suppose  she 
cares  ?  As  if  it  was  not  enough  to  find  disagreeable  company 
at  home,  without  having  all  one's  actions  submitted  to  their 
approval. ' 

1  But,'  said  Rosalie  with  a  little  hesitation,  l  it  does  not 
matter  what  is  done  with  the  actions  that  oneself  approves, 
— and  the  others  can  rarely  be  kept  secret.' 

'  I  presume  not — so  long  as  one  has  two  sharp-eyed 
sisters,'  said  Thornton  as  he  rose  up  and  quitted  the  room. 
And  the  house-door's  clang  immediately  followed. 

Had  she  done  wrong  to  say  that  ?  had  she  gone  too  far  ? 
She  did  not  know — she  could  not  resolve.  Between  the  fear 
of  displeasing  him,  of  weakening  her  influence,  and  the  earnest 
desire  to  speak  a  word  for  the  truth  whenever  it  might  be 
spoken,  Rosalie  was  often  at  a  loss ;  and  the  eyes  whose 
keenness  he  condemned  had  wept  many  tears  before  Thorn 
ton  had  gone  far  in  his  anger.  On  the  whole  the  evening 
had  been  a  sorrowful  one.  She  had  in  a  measure  got  accus 
tomed  to  the  old  grievous  things,  but  she  felt  now  as  if  more 
were  coming  upon  her, — a  sort  of  undefined  perception  that 
her  own  trials  were  getting  entwined  with  those  of  other 
people.  But  one  thing  seemed  clear,  and  that  was  her  duty. 
She  thought  long  and  earnestly  of  those  words  of  Rutherford, 
"  It  is  possible  your  success  answer  not  your  desire  in  this 
worthy  cause  :  what  then  ?  Duties  are  ours,  events  are  the 
Lord's."  And  striving  to  let  her  will  as  her  hope,  rest  there, 
sleep  had  passed  its  quieting  hand  over  her  face  long  before  her 
brother  returned  and  came  softly  in  to  look  at  her.  He  had 
taken  a  great  habit  of  doing  this,  of  late. 


A  MORNING  WATCH.  91 


CHAPTER  XL 

* 

She  doeth  little  kindnesses, 

"Which  most  leave  undone,  or  despise ; 

For  nought  that  sets  one  heart  at  ease, 

And  giveth  happiness  or  peace, 

Is  low-esteemed  in  her  eyes.— LOWELL. 

FULLY  determined  that  if  her  brother  had  any  cause  of 
complaint  against  her  it  should  not  go  unatoned  for,  Rosalie's 
first  desire  the  next  morning  was  to  see  him. 

If  he  only  knew  ! — she  thought. 

But  he  did  not  know — he  could  not  guess  that  of  all  the 
cares  upon  her  heart  his  welfare  was  the  chiefest, — that  for 
his  sake  she  would  have  gone  through  any  possible  difficulty 
or  danger.  Sometimes  she  half  thought  he  did  know  it, — 
that  her  love  was  appreciated  if  not  quite  returned;  and 
sometimes  she  did  not  know  what  to  think. 

In  this  mood  she  got  up  as  early  as  the  tardy  daylight 
would  permit,  and  dressing  herself  softly  that  she  might  not 
wake  Hulda,  stood  leaning  against  the  door-post  with  clasped 
hands  and  a  very  grave,  quiet  face,  waiting  to  hear  him  go 
down.  She  was  not  sure  but  this  was  one  of  his  mornings 
for  an  early  drill.  The  step  came  at  last,  and  no  sooner  had 
it  fairly  past  her  door  than  her  light  foot  followed.  Down 
the  stairs  and  into  the  breakfast-room — but  he  was  not  there. 
Had  she  mistaken  another  step  for  his  ?  He  came  behind 


92  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

her  at  the  moment,  and  with  his  lips  upon  her  forehead  in 
quired,  *  What  in  the  world  she  was  after,  at  that  time  in  the 
morning?' 

'  0,  I  was  after  you — '  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  and 
then  as  quick  down  again;  for  something  in  his  eyes  had 
brought  her  very  heart  welling  up  to  her  own. 

1  To  ask  me  to  beg  your  pardon  for  last  night's  offences  ? ' 
said  Thornton,  as  he  drew  her  to  a  seat  by  him  on  the 
sofa. 

'  No  indeed  ! ' 

'  It  is  done  unasked  then,  Alie.  I  should  hate  myself 
for  a  month  if  I  thought  my  words  had  grieved  you  half  as 
much  as  they  did  me.  I  suppose  I  need  not  ask  whether  I 
am  forgiven  ? ' 

He  had  no  answer  at  all  events. 

'  Hush — you  are  a  foolish  child,'  Thornton  said.  '  Why 
Alie,  what  was  it  you  took  so  much  to  heart  ? ' 

'  Nothing — not  that.  But  oh,  Thornton, — I  wish  you 
knew  me  a  little  better  ! ' 

'  So  do  not  I — I  know  you  quite  well  enough  now  for 
my  own  comfort.  If  I  knew  you  any  better  I  should  pro 
bably  absent  myself  permanently,  and  leave  the  field  clear 
to  some  one  who  would  take  better  care  of  you.  As  it  is, 
Alie,  I  choose  to  persuade  myself  that  we  can  live  on  to 
gether.' 

What  a  look  she  turned  on  him. 

'  Well  now  let  us  hear  what  you  have  to  say,  pretty  one,' 
said  her  brother  admiringly.  *  What  has  your  little  head 
been  at  work  upon  ? ' 

'  I  was  thinking — I  was  afraid  that  perhaps  I  had  said 
too  much  last  night, — more  than  I  ought — to  you.  If  you 
knew  my  feeling  you  would  not  blame  me,  but  the  words 
might  seem  unkind ;  and  I  was  very  sorry.  I  will  try  not 
to  fail  in  that  way  again.' 


CONTRITION.  93 

'My  dear  little  sister,'  said  Thornton  laughing,  'you 
really  are  too  absurd  !  To  hear  you  make  promises  of 
amendment  is  very  like  hearing  you  say  that  for  the  future 
you  intend  to  look  pretty,  or  any  such  work  of  supereroga 
tion.  You — who  never  thought  said- or  did  anything  but 
goodness  in  your  whole  life.' 

(  Which  proves  how  little  you  know  me.' 

c  We  will  agree  to  have  different  opinions  on  that  point. 
At  present  you  are  my  standard  of  perfection.' 

I  Ah  but,.you  have  no  right  to  take  any  such  standard, 
dear  Thornton.       Think  what  perfection  is,  and  what  the 
Bible  standard,  before  you  apply  either  word  to  me.' 

I 1  must  be  allowed  to  have  my  own  ideas  on  the   sub 
ject,  nevertheless,'  said  Thornton.     *  But  Alie,  you  fairly 
frightened  me  by  getting  up  so  early  this  morning.     I  didn't 
know  but  you  were  going  to  pay  your  friend  Mrs.  Raynor  a 
visit.' 

.  The  implication  raised  so  very  slight  a  colour,  that 
Thornton's  spirits  improved  at  once. 

'  Alie ! '  called  out  Hulda's  little  voice  from  over  the 
balusters,  c  won't  you  please  come  ?  because  Martha  isn't 
here,  and  I  want  to  get  up  so  much.' 

1  Run  ! '  said  Thornton  laughing.  '  It  is  hard  to  take 
care  of  two  people,  isn't  it  ?  Here  you  have  been  bestowing 
your  attentions  upon  me,  leaving  that  child  to  get  out  of  bed 
alone  at  the  risk  of  breaking  her  neck.  I  wonder,  by  the 
way,  what '  getting  up '  is  supposed  to  mean,  in  infant  par 
lance.' 

*  And  I  wonder  who  gave  you  leave  to  come  out  and 
stand  on  the  cold  oil-cloth,  little  one  ?  '  said  Rosalie  as  she 
ran  up  stairs  and  stooped  down  by  the  little  night-gowned 
and  night-capped  figure.  Hulda's  arms  were  quickly  about 
her  sister's  neck,  and  her  little  bare  feet  curled  up  in  her 


94  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

lap ;  and  then  she  was  lifted  up  and  carried  back  into  the 
room. 

1  Who  was  that  you  were  talking  to  ? '  said  Hulda. 

'  Thornton.' 

1  Does  he  feel  good  natured  this  morning  ?  ' 

'  I  did  not  ask  him,'  said  Rosalie  smiling.     {  Do  you  ? ' 

'  0  yes,'  said  Hulda,  '  but  then  I  didn't  feel  cross  last 
night.  I  think  it's  very  disagreeable  to  have  people  cross.' 

1  Then  you  and  I  will  try  to  be  always  pleasant.  If 
Thornton  does  not  want  the  horses  this  morning,  we  will  go 
and  see  Miss  Morsel.' 

The  horses  were  not  wanted,  and  after  breakfast  they 
set  forth; — all  but  Hiram  well  pleased  with  the  prospect. 
He  thought  it  was  hardty  worth  while  to  risk  an  overturn  in 
a  narrow  street,  for  anything  that  street  could  contain.  Not 
that  he  had  the  least  intention  of  being  overturned,  by  the 

t>y. 

The  street  was  narrow  and  the  sleighing  therein  most 
disagreeable.  Irregular  heaps  of  snow  that  had  been  thrown 
from  the  side-walks  stood  up  and  shook  hands  across  the 
narrow  track  which  the  sleighs  of  the  milkman,  the  wood 
man,  and  the  baker,  had  marked  out  for  themselves.  No 
thing  wider  than  those  humble  vehicles  had  been  that  way, 
and  it  was  hard  for  anything  wider  to  go, — the  sleigh  was 
obliged  to  content  itself  with  having  one  runner  at  a  time  on 
smooth  ground  and  the  other  on  a  snow-bank.  Which 
slate  of  things  did  not  at  all  content  Hiram.  Ugly  the  snow 
banks  were,  as  well  as  inconvenient ;  for  when  gutters  were 
choked  up  the  unfortunate  snow  did  duty  instead,  and  no 
rigid  enforcement  of  law  prevailed  in  this  district.  Also  the 
pigs  had  been  dilatory  in  seeking  their  breakfast ;  and  that 
which  had  been  very  white  as  it  fell,  was  now  agreeably 
diversified  with  cinders,  cabbage  leaves,  lemon  peels,  potato 


MISS   M011SEL   AT    HOME.  95 

parings,  buckwheat  cakes,  oyster  shells,  and  the  like;  ac 
cording  as  dinner,  breakfast,  or  supper,  had  been  the  last 
prominent  meal  in  the  different  houses. 

The  house  where  Hiram  at  length  paused,  was  distin 
guished  by  less  of  a  snow  bank  and  what  there  was,  cleaner. 
No  decorations  lay  there  but  dry  Christmas  greens — a  wreath 
and  a  festoon,  all  falling  to  pieces  and  sinking  into  the  snow : 
the  hemlock  leaves  scattering  about,  and  the  cedar  shrinking 
and  shrivelling  up  within  itself. 

*  0  Miss  Morsel  has  thrown  away  her  wreath ! '  said 
Hulda. 

'  I  don't  know  as  you  can  get  out,  ma'am,'  said  Hiram, 
while  he  lent  careful  aid  to  the  undertaking.  c  The  snow's 
right  deep.  It's  an  astonishing  promotion  to  a  street  when 
the  families  keeps  their  carriage  ! ' 

But  she  got  out  nicely — as  she  did  everything — and  went 
lightly  up  the  steps  and  opened  the  unlocked  door ;  its  want 
of  fastening  a  sure  sign  that  there  was  no  family  bond 
within.  The  house  was  but  what  a  botanist  would  call 
'an  involucre.'  'That  might  be  guessed  from  the  sickly 
smell  spread  through  the. hall  and  passages, — one  of  those 
compounds  which  will  not  bear  resolving. 

Two  flights  of  stairs  and  a  short  entry  brought  the 
visiters  to  Miss  Morsel's  door ;  where  they  had  no  sooner 
knocked  than  it  was  openecj.  Miss  Morsel  indeed,  having 
watched  the  whole  preliminaries  from  the  first  jingle  of  the 
sleigh  bells,  and  having  got  very  warm  with  anxiety  lest  the 
snow  bank  should  prove  insurmountable,  was  now  equally 
cold  with  standing  at  her  own  door ;  and  she  would  certainly 
have  saved  Rosalie  the  trouble  of  knocking  had  not  elegant 
propriety,  to  her  mind,  forbidden  it.  So  she  stood  as  close 
to  the  door  as  she  could  get,  and  waited  for  her  visiters  to 
demand  entrance.  It  was  given  them  with  every  demon 
stration  of  joy. 


96  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

The  room  looked  comfortable,  though  with  that  strict, 
severe  sort  of  comfort  where  everything  is  fastened  up  and 
fastened  down,  and  must  remain  just  so  or  it  will  not  look 
comfortable.  A  doll's  dress,  sewed  to  the  doll  and  not 
meant  to  be  taken  off. 

Of  the  chintz  curtains,  Lydia  Sharpe  might  have  said 
that  they  had  "  no  folds  in  nature — nor  drapery," — and  yet 
they  were  curtains ;  and  when  they  hung  as  they  were  bid, 
you  did  not  at  first  see  how  old  they  were.  The  rug  did 
not  match  the  carpet  but  was  a  rug  nevertheless ;  and  of 
the  fire  appendages  it  could  not  be  said  in  the  words  of  the 
song, 

"  The  shovel  and  tongs 
To  each  other  belongs  " — 

they  belonged  only  to  Miss  Morsel. 

The  bed  was  not  visible.  Whether  Miss  Morsel  kept  it 
in  the  closet,  and  underwent  severe  bodily  exercise  to  get  it 
out  every  night — or  whether  she  gave  it  her  company  in  the 
closet,  doth  not  appear.  The  chairs  were  rush-bottomed, 
and  begun  to  be  cushioned ;  and  a  little  pine  box  by  the  fire 
held  a  supply  of  fuel — Rosalie  was  glad  that  she"  did  not 
know  for  how  long. 

A  few  things  in  the  room  however,  bore  token  of  more 
outlay, — towards  Miss  Morsel's  old  mother  her  purse  strings 
were  evidently  lenient.  Her  chair  was  most  carefully 
cushioned — back,  arms,  and  all ;  and  the  cover  was  of  some 
red  stuff,  and  her  footstool  clad  with  the  same.  By  the 
window  stood  two  or-three  geraniums  in  dark  ruffled  earthen 
pots ;  while  a  little  work  table,  placed  with  evident  care  and 
tenderness,  lobked  as  if  it  and  the  books  upon  it  were  of  no 
Miss  Morsel's  choice. 

'  I  don't  suppose  there's  anybody  else  in  the  world  could 
have  come  here  this  morning ! '  said  poor  little  Miss  Morsel, 


EVER   SO   HOMELY.  97 

taking  hold  of  both  Rosalie's  hands  and  looking  up  into  her 
face.  *  Because  I  have  felt  rather  down-hearted  you  see ;  and 
most  people  don't  happen  in  when  you  feel  so.' 

*  Then  I  have  just  come  at  the  right  time.     How  is  your 
mother  to-day  ? ' 

*  0  pretty*well,'  said  Miss  Morsel, — '  though  it  does  seem 
queer  to  call  a  person  pretty  that's  got  so  little  pretence  to 
it.     I'll  tell  her  you're  here.'     And  the  fact  was  announced 
in  no  very  measured  voice. 

'  What's  she  come  for  ?  '  was  the  old  lady's  first  and  most 
distinct  question. 

4  Why  to  see  you,  ma — to  see  you  and  me.' 

1  0  no,'  said  Mrs.  Morsel,  c  that's  not  it, — that  couldn't 
be  it.  No  person  comes  to  see  you  and  me  now.' 

1  What  do  you  suppose  she  did  come  for,  then  ?  '  said 
Miss  Morsel,  who  from  policy  or  respect  never  argued  with 
her  mother. 

1  Well— perhaps  she  did — '  said  the  old  woman  doubt 
fully.  (  Miss  Clyde,  hey.  Ask  her  to  sit  down,  Bettie.' 

But  Miss  Clyde  was  in  no  haste  to  sit  down.  She  went 
to  the  window  and  looked  at  the  plants ;  examined  the  state 
of  the  chair  cushions,  and  recommended  that  two  or  three 
of  them  should  be  covered  with  some  particularly  bright 
chintz  which  she  had  at  home. 

'  I  will  send  Tom  down  with  it,'  she  said.  {I  think  it 
will  please  your  mother.' 

1  There's  a  scarcity  of  the  people  that  ever  think  of  that, 
now-a-days,'  said  Miss  Morsel  with  a  little  sorrowful  shake 
of  her  head.  { It's  queer  too,  for  if  ever  anybody  wanted 
pleasing  she  does.  But  haven't  you  got  everything  in  the 
world,  at  home  !  And  after  all,  as  I  tell  ma,  there's  no 
store  closet  like  one's  own  heart.' 

1  What's  she  going  to  send  down  ?  '  said  old  Mrs.  Morsel. 
5 


98 

1  Bettie,  tell  her  she  needn't  send  no  more  o'  them  fine  shirts 
— we  don't  take  in  sewing  now.' 

"l  She  knew  that  before  you  did,  ina,'  replied  her  daughter. 

'  My  eyes  ami  strong  to  do  fine  work  now,'  continued 
Mrs.  Morsel,  drawing  herself  up,  '  and  I  like  other  work 
better.  So  does  Bettie.  We  don^t  do  it  no  longer.  Tell 
her  so.' 

c  It  does  really  seem  sometimes,'  said  the  daughter  in  a 
kind  of  aside,  '  as  if  ina'd  forgot  all  the  little  English  she 
ever  did  know  !  You  would  really  suppose  that  she'd  never 
been  to  school  or  studied  grammar ;  and  yet  I  daresay  she 
used  to  know  the  noun  of  multitude  and  all  those  rules  quite 
respectably  for  her  age  of  society.' 

'  So  that's  what  she  come  for  ? '  said  old  Mrs.  Morsel. 
'  I  told  you  she  wanted  something.  She  must  go  to  some 
poor  person, — we  don't  take  in  sewing.' 

*  How  much  patience  do  you  suppose   Job  had  ?  '   said 
Miss  Morsel  in  the  same  undertone  to  Rosalie.     (  Because 
sometimes  I  think  he  must  have  had  so  much  more  than  me, 
that  it's  hardly  worth  while  to  try.     Never  mind  her,  dear, 
— just  you  sit  down  and  tell  me  about  the  battles.' 

'  There's  very  little  use  in  battles,'  said  the  old  woman. 
'  Folks  said  the  Revolutionary  War  did  the  country  a  power 
of  good,  but  we  didn't  get  none  of  it.  I've  heerd  tell  of  a 
great  deal  more  than  I  ever  was  knowing  to.  We've  been 
good  for  nothing  since.' 

1  It's  a  singular  fact,'  said  Miss  Morsel  softly,  c  that  if 
pa  hadn't  been  killed  in  the  Revolutionary  War,  we  shouldn't 
have  anything  to  live  on  now.  Queer,  isn't  it  ?  ' 

It  was  so  queer,  altogether,  that  Rosalie  was  somewhat 
divided  between  the  desire  to  laugh  and  the  desire  to  cry. 

*  But  now  do  tell  me,'  continued  Miss  Morsel,  *  you  never 
did  tell  me — how  did  you  get  the  pension  money  ?  who  did 
the  business  ? ' 


WHAT   IS   BEST.  99 

{  0  I  spoke  to  a  friend  of  mine  about  it,'  said  Rosalie. 

I  No  wonder  it  got  done,  then,'  said  Miss  Morsel,  with  a 
loving  look  up  at  her  guest.     <  I   should  think  everybody 
would  do  any  thing,  and  glad.     Ah  it's  a  great  help  in  the 
world  to  be  young,  my  dear, — and  pretty — and  rich  !     How 
ever,  we  all  have  what  is  best  for  us.' 

I 1  don't  think  bread  and  cheese  is  a  healthy  dinner,'  said 
Mrs.  Morsel  sourly.     '  Bettie  will  have  it  sometimes.     And 
she  says  it's  best,  and  I  say  it  aint.' 

'  Just  think  of  her  saying  that !  '  said  the  daughter ;  evi 
dently  distressed  that  her  guest  should  hear  it,  but  only  from 
the  most  generous  and  disinterested  feeling.  *  To  be  sure 
we  do  have  it  sometimes,  but  it's  very  good.  I  daresay 
those  poor  men  that  are  out  fighting  Tecumseh  don't  get  a 
bit  better.  But  you  said  he  was  taken  prisoner.' 

'  I  thought,'  said  Rosalie  softly,  *  I  thought  you  were 
taking  better  care  of  yourself, — you  promised  that  you 
would.' 

1  Take  good  enough  care,  my  dear — oh  yes,  so  I  do ;  but 
you  see  the  thing  is,  ma's  liable  to  be  sick,  of  course — 
any  body  is ;  and  if  she  is  to  be  sick  I  should  like  her  to 
have  just  what  she's  a  mind  to  call  for, — and  the  things 
wouldn't  be  few  nor  far  between,  neither.  And  it's  so  easy 
to  take  money  out  of  the  trunk  when  you've  got  it  there 
ready.' 

'  But  let  her  have  it  now — she  shall  never  miss  it,  nor  you 
either.' 

c  Yes,  but  I  sha'n't  let  you  do  that,'  said  Miss  Morsel, 
dashing  off  the  tears  which  those  glistening  eyes  had  called 
up;  'so  don't  talk  about  it  or. you'll  upset  me  at  once. 
Everybody  ought  to  live  on  his  income, — and  my  income 
comes  in  regularly,  and  when  it  don't  I'll  let  you  know 
There's  Hulda  gone  to  sleep  this  minute.' 


100  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1  No  I  haven't,'  said  Ilulda,  looking  up  with  a  weary 
little  face.  '  What  made  you  throw  away  your  greens,  Miss 
Morsel  ?  ' 

'  Why  they  got  dry  and  fell  over  the  world,  and  made 
such  a  muss  as  I  couldn't  stand — so  I  thought  they  might 
come  down.  I  reasoned  in  this  way — if  Christmas  greens 
put  me  out  of  patience  they  won't  do  me  much  good, — and 
down  they  came.  But  I  kept  the  laurel,  because  that  isn't 
crumbly ;  and  it  helps  one  to  think  that  there  are  woods  in 
existence  somewhere.' 

*  Why   didn't  you  come  before  ? '  said  the  old  woman 
suddenly  turning  towards  her  visiter.     *  It's  better  than  six 
months  since  you  were  here.' 

'  0  no,  it  is  not  so  many  weeks,'  said  Rosalie  smiling. 

*  It  isn't  more  than  half  so  many,'   said  Miss  Morsel. 
'  You  forget,  ma.' 

1  Old  folks  always  does  forget,'  said  Mrs.  Morsel  with  a 
somewhat  piqued  air.  '  Only  if  they  do,  it's  a  wonder  to  my 
mind  how  young  folks  comes  to  know  anything.  They  don't 
know  tomch.  I  say  it's  six  months.' 

'  You  won't  mind  her,  dear,'  said  Miss  Morsel  in  a  low 
voice, — '  because  she's  had  a  good  many  sticks  in  her  way, 
and  somehow  she  likes  to  take  'em  all.  It's  only  a  little 
cup  of  crossness  she's  got  to  pour  out,  and  then  she'll  be 
done  for  a  while.  She  used  to  have  just  what  she  wanted 
once,  you  know,  and  somehow  it  makes  one  good  natured  to 
be  comfortable.  But  we  are  comfortable  now,  very, — if  you 
have  everything,  you  can't  wish.  I've  nothing  to  complain 
of.  I  never  wanted  to  complain  since  what  you  told  me  once 
— do  you  remember  ?  how  "  when  the  children  of  Israel 
murmured,  it  displeased  the  Lord."  I've  thought  of  it  a 
great  many  times.' 

'  It  would  be  easy  not  to  murmur  if  we  thought  more  of 


SNOWS   AINT   MUCH   NOW-A-DAYS.  101 

the  promised  land  and  less  of  the  wilderness,'  said  Rosalie 
with  a  half-checked  sigh. 

'  Yes  dear.  And  I'm  glad  for  my  part  to  recollect  that 
this  isn't  the  promised  land  ; — so  in  that  point  of  view,  you 
see,  bread  and  cheese  is  quite  wholesome.' 

(  Can  you  leave  your  mother  for  a  while  ?  '  said  Rosalie, 
{ I  want  you  to  go  and  take  a  sleigh  ride.  I  came  on  pur 
pose.' 

1  Did  you  really  ?  '  said  Miss  Morsel, — ( then  I'll  go  ; 
though  I  don't  think  I  could  if  you  hadn't  come  on  purpose. 
Just  like  you  !  I  wonder  who  else  would  want  to  parade  mo 
up  and  down  Broadway  !  and  not  in  a  close  carriage,  either. 
O  yes — I  can  leave  her, — Seraphina  Wells  '11  come  in  and 
sit  here — ma  likes  Seraphina, — don't  you  ma  ?  don't  you  like 
Seraphina  Wells  ? ' 

'  Not  much — '  said  the  old  lady.  *  She  aint  much  but  a 
giddy-go-round.  No,  I  don't  like  her.' 

'  Just  hear  that,  now  ! '  said  Miss  Morsel.  {  But  she  does 
like  her,  for  all.  Well  I'll  get  ready  dear,  as  soon  as  I  can. 
But  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  go — I  felt  so  down  this 
morning.' 

'  That's  the  very  reason  why  you  should  go,'  said  Rosalie 
smiling.  '  It  will  cheer  you  up.' 

*  O  the  snow  is  beautiful ! '  said  Hulda. 

'  Snows  aint  much  now-a-days,'  said  old  Mrs.  Morsel  rub 
bing  her  hand  back  and  forth  over  her  knee.  c  They  aint 
like  the  snows  in  my  time.  They  wouldn't  hardly  ha'  been 
called  a  flurry  of  snow  in  my  time.' 

{  Did  you  ever  ! '  said  Miss  Morsel,  pausing  on  her  way 
to  the  closet.  '  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she'd  say  the  people 
were  worse  then  too.7 

'  How  do  you  feel  to-day,  Mrs.  Morsel  ? '  said  Rosalie, 
coming  close  to  her  chair. 


102  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1  How  should  I  feel  ?  '  said  the  old  woman  pettishly,  but 
with  more  energy  than  she  had  before  spoken.  '  How  would 
you  feel  if  you  was  shut  up  in  this  chair  with  nobody  to 
speak  to,  and  no  home  nor  nothing?  The  folks  that  has  the 
world  thinks  it's  easy  to  do  without  it.  I  tell  you  it  isn't, — • 
it's  hard.  It's  a  bad  world,  but  I  want  it.' 

{  There  is  a  better  world,'  said  Rosalie  gently, — *  do  you 
want  that  ? ' 

'  Suppose  I  want  both  ? '  said  Mrs.  Morsel  in  the  same 
tone.  'What  then?' 

'  Then  make  sure  of  the  best  first.  "  They  that  seek  the 
Lord  shall  not  want  any  good  thing."  : 

'  Ay — that's  what  you  say,'  replied  Mrs.  Morsel,  rubbing 
her  hand  back  and  forth.  '  That's  what  you  say.  I  should 
like  to  see  you  try  it  once  !  Easy  work  to  learn  Bible  verses 
and  say  'em  ! ' 

'  Yes,  it  is  much  easier  than  to  follow  them,'  said  Rosalie, 
— *  I  know  that.  But  then  you  believe  the  Bible  words, 
"whether  I  obey  them  or  not ;  and  isn't  it  pleasant  to  think 
of  heaven  when  we  have  a  poor  home  on  earth  ?  and  to  re 
member  that  if  not  one  friend  ever  comes  to  see  us,  yet  that 
the  angels  of  God  are  ever  about  his  children,  and  that  the 
Lord  Jesus  has  promised  to  be  always  with  those  that  serve 
him?' 

The  old  woman's  hand  moved  yet,  but  it  was  with  a 
nervous,  unsteady  action,  and  her  face  in  vain  tried  to  main 
tain  its  cold  dissatisfied  look.  Rosalie  had  stooped  down 
and  laid  her  hand  upon  the  arm  of  the  chair  while  she  was 
speaking  ;  and  now  one  of  the  old  shrivelled  hands  was  laid 
tremblingly  upon  hers. 

'  That's  true — that  about  the  angels,'  she  said  in  a  shak 
ing  voice,  *  but  I'm  not  one  of  them  they  should  come  to. 
What  did  you  come  here  for  ?' 


CHEERED   UP   HIGHER    THAN   EVER.  103 

'  Yes  I'll  go — '  said  Miss  Morsel,  coming  back  with  her 
bonnet  on.  '  It  is  queer,  isn't  it?  but  I  never  can  hear 
sleigh  bells  without  wanting  to  run  after  'em.  I  often  think 
there  must  be  a  little  perverseness  tucked  away  in  some  cor 
ner  of  my  existenqe.' 

'  Things  always  is  tucked  away  in  corners,'  said  old  Mrs. 
Morsel,  sinking  back  into  her  chair  and  her  old  manner  at 
once.  '  Corners  aint  no  other  use  in  a  house.' 

'  That  aint  much  use,  to  my  mind,'  said  Miss  Morsel. 
'  However,  I'm  going  ma,  so  goodbye.' 

She  went — and  to  use  her  own  expression  "  was  cheered 
up  higher  than  ever." 

Leaving  poor  friends  and  poor  circumstances  behind,  the 
sleigh  now  glided  on  to  the  other  extreme  of  the  city,  as  of 
life ;  and  before  a  large  house  in  State  Street  Hiram  once 
more  drew  up.  The  door  was  quickly  opened,  and  merely 
inquiring  if  Miss  Arnet  was  at  home,  Rosalie  sought  the 
young  lady  up-stairs.  There  she  sat  in  her  dressing-room, 
ensconced  in  wrapper  and  cushions, — a  book  in  her 'hand, 
her  hair  in  the  hands  of  her  maid.  Book  and  maid  were,  at 
once  dismissed  ;  and  seating  Rosalie  among  the  cushions, 
Miss  Arnet  stood  before  her  to  talk  and  arrange  her  hair  at 
the  same  time. 

'  Where  have  you  been  ?  and  what  has  made  you  do  so 
unwonted  a  thing  as  to  come  here  ? ' 

'  Truly,  the  simple  desire  to  see  you,'  said  Rosalie. 

1  The  pleasantest  reason  in  the  world — and  the  rarest. 
What  did  that  woman  do  with  my  comb  !  Poor  little  Hulda, 
you  look  tired  to  death.  Where  have  you  been  whisked  to 
this  morning  ?' 

1  0  we've  been  sleigh  riding  with  Miss  Morsel,'  said 
Hulda  with  a  look  that  bore  out  Miss  Arnet's  words. 

Marion  lifted  up  eyes  and  hands,  which  were  by  thia 
time  disengaged. 


104  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

c  You  poor  child  !  there  wouldn't  be  the  least  atom  of  me 
left  after  such  an  experience.  Here,'  she  continued,  picking 
up  Hulda  and  depositing  her  upon  the  sofa, '  won't  that  make 
you  forget  Miss  Morsel  ?  Don't  pull  down  my  hair,  pet,  in 
the  intensity  of  your  gratitude.  Are  my  sofa  cushions 
nice  ?' 

1  Yery  nice  ! '  said  Hulda  smiling. 

'  Then  lie  still  there  and  go  to  sleep — I  sha'n't  let  Rosalie 
go  for  one  good  hour.' 

'  But  why  don't  you  come  to  see  us  as  you  used  to  ? '  said 
Hulda,  when  she  had  at  last  taken  her  arms  from  Miss 
Arnet's  neck.  '  I  asked  Thornton  the  other  day,  and  he 
said — ' 

1  What  did  he  say  ?  '  inquired  Marion. 

'  I  don't  believe  I  know,'  said  Hulda,  '  it  was  so  many 
queer  words.  He  said  he  couldn't  undertake — to  account 
for  young  ladies'  freaks. — Yes,  that  was  it,  because  I  said  it 
over  and  over  for  fear  I  should  forget  it.' 

Marion  sprang  up,  and  crossing  the  room  to  where 
Rosalie  sat  she  said  in  a  kind  of  indignant  undertone, 

'  Is  that  the  way  I  am  understood  ?  Is  t/iat  what  he 
thinks  of  me  ?' 

'  No — '  was  the  quiet  and  sad  reply. 

Miss  Arnet  knelt  down  by  her  side,  and  leaning  her 
elbows  on  the  chair  arm  went  on  in  the  same  vehement 
way, 

1  Then  what  does  he  mean  by  saying  so  ?  It  is  cruel  to 
say  what  he  does  not  think  ! — it  is  unjust ! ' 

1  He  is  neither  to  you,  Marion.  He  is  only  cruel  and 
unjust  to  himself.' 

'  Then  what  does  this  mean  ? '  she  repeated,  but  more 
quietly. 

1  It  means  only  that  he  is  not  happy,'  said  his  sister  sor 
rowfully.  '  You  do  not  wonder  at  that  ?  ' 


MISS   ARNET.  105 

Marion's  head  drooped  lower  and  rested  upon  her  hands. 

'  What  can  I  do  ?  '  she  said  at  length.  '  I  will  never 
subject  myself  to  the  miseries  I  have  seen  in  my  own  uncle's 
family.  Rosalie  !  he  has  ruined  himself — he  has  ruined 
them, — in  mind,  character,  and  estate  ;  and  when  he  came 
here  one  night  and  said  he  had  been  playing  with  Thorn 
ton ' 

For  a  minute  the  room  was  absolutely  still,  and  the 
figures  there  might  have  been  statues. 

1 1  told  Thornton  at  once,'  said  Miss  Arnet  raising  her 
head,  '  that  unless  he  would  promise  me  never  to  play  for 
money  again,  I  would  have  no  more  to  do  with  him.  than 
with  the  rest  of  the  world.  And  he  would  not  give  the 
promise-— said  he  would  not  be  dictated  to  by  any  woman — 
as  if  it  was  not  more  for  his  sake  than  my  own,  after  all ! 

'  Do  you  blame  me  ? '  she  said,  after  another  pause. 

<No.' 

But  the  word  was  spoken  with  such  evident  pain,  that 
Miss  Arnet  put  her  arms  about  Rosalie  and  tried  every 
word  of  soothing  she  could  think  of. 

1 1  am  very,  very  wrong  to  go  this  all  over  to  you  again  ! 
— you  have  enough  of  your  own  to  bear.  Only  it  is  such  a 
relief  to  speak  out.  Alie  !  what  is  the  matter  ?  you  art  iiot 
well — you  are  perfectly  white.' 

'  Yes,  quite  well,'  Rosalie  said.  But  the  bitterness  of 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  that  had  been  at  work  could  no 
longer  be  kept  in.  Speak  out  Rosalie  never  did,  now ; 
but  the  sorrow  that  for  a  few  moments  held  her  in  its 
strong  grasp,  told  of  heart  sickness  such  as  Marion  could 
hardly  comprehend.  She  was  almost  as  much  frightened  as 
grieved. 

'  I  don't  know  where  my  common  sense  went  to  this 
morning,'  she  said,  when  Rosalie  had  once  looked  up  and 
5* 


106  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

given  the  assurance  that  there  was  nothing  new  the  matter. 
1  It  is  a  perfect  shame  for  me  to  lean  upon  you — little  frail 
thing  that  you  are, — and  younger  than  I  am  to  begin  with. 
I  should  think  you  would  hate  me  Rosalie,  for  bringing  this 
upon  you.' 

1  My  dear  child,  you  have  not  brought  it.' 

'  Well,  but  don't  call  me  child,'  said  Miss  Arnet,  trying 
to  take  down  her  cousin's  hands,  '  because  it's  really  absurd 
for  me  to  look  up  to  you, — I  shall  not  do  it  any  more,  if  I 
can  help  it.  For  the  future,  Alie,  you  may  lean  upon  me. 
But  indeed  I  have  hard  work  sometimes.  Mamma  you 
know  takes  different  ground — says  I  have  behaved  shock 
ingly,  and  she  has  no  patience  with  me.  And  it  is  not  a 
light  thing  to  see  such  a  change  in  a  friend  one  has  always 
had.' 

His  sister  knew  that !  But  she  sat  up  now,  and  push 
ing  the  hair  back  off  her  face  with  an  expression  of  quiet 
patience,  she  said  gently, 

1  I  do  not  blame  you,  dear — I  could  not  have  advised 
you  to  do  otherwise  than  JTOU  have  done.' 

'  Perhaps  it  will  all  turn  out  well  yet,'  said  Marion 
looking  at  her  anxiously.  l  Perhaps  he  will  change  his 
mind.' 

1  It  may  be  that  God  will  change  it — '  said  his  sister, 
though  the  calm  words  trembled  a  little, — and  Miss  Arnet 
knew  then  why  she  looked  up  to  her.  '  The  grace  of  God 
which  bringeth  salvation  hath  done  harder  things  than  that.' 
And  as  her  face  once  more  rested  on  her  hands,  Rosalie 
added, 

1 "  Let  thy  mercy,  0  Lord,  be  upon  us,  according  as  we 
hope  in  thee  !  "  ' 

No  more  was  said  ;  and  after  a  few  moments  Hulda  was 
aroused  and  they  went  home. 


CONFUSION.  107 


CHAPTER  XII. 

I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man ; 
Who  dares  do  more,  is  none. — Macbetli. 

1  WHAT  a  confoundedly  stupid  thing  it  is  that  people  can't 
do  as  they  choose  ! '  said  Thornton,  throwing  down  the 
paper  one  morning. 

*  Do  you  think  so  ?'  said  his  sister.  'Now  I  think  that 
much  of  the  confusion  of  the  world  is  because  people  will 
do  as  they  choose.' 

1  What  else  should  they  do  ?  ' 

(  That  depends —  Choice  is  a  poor  reason  if  there  be 
no  reason  in  the  choice.' 

'  Now  here,'  continued  Thornton  without  heeding  her, 
{  here  has  this  precious  court  martial  dismissed  Capt.  Lewis 
from  the  army,  just  because  he  chose  to  play  cards.' 

'  Chose  to  gamble — '  said  Rosalie. 

c  Call  it  what  you  like — '  said  Thornton, — ( I  can't  for 
the  life  of  me  see^, whose  concern  it  was  but  his  own.  Why 
shouldn't  he  gamble — if  it  amuses  him  ?  ' 

'  Why  shouldn't  he  cut  throats  if  it  amuses  him  ?  ' 

(  He  may  for  what  I  care.' 

'  What  are  the  reasons  given  for  his  dismissal  ? '  said 
Rosalie, — c  what  is  the  verdict  ? ' 

'  Here  it  is,  in  full.' 


108  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

HEAD  QUARTERS,  <fcc. 

"  At  a  general  court  martial,  whereof  Colonel  Thomas 
Parker  was  president,  was  tried  Captain  Charles  Lewis,  of 
the  29th  regiment,  on  the  following  charge  and  specifica 
tions  : 
"  Charge — Conduct  unbecoming  an  officer  and  a  gentleman. 

"  Specification  1.  Holding  a  faro-bank  at  his  quarters 
near  Buffalo,  about  the  6th  Nov.  1812. 

"  Specif.  2.  Gambling  with  his  own  waiter,  and  other 
aoldiers,  at  faro,  same  time  and  place. 

"  Specif.  3.  Winning  and  receiving  money  of  soldiers, 
same  time  and  place. 

"  Specif.  4.  Boasting  to  his  waiter,  that  he  had  won  $60 
with  a  pack  of  cards,  about  the  same  time  and  place. 

"  To  which  charge  and  specifications  the  prisoner  pleaded 
not  guilty  of  the  charge — guilty  of  the  first  and  third 
specifications,  and  not  guilty  of  the  fourth. 

"  The  court,  after  mature  deliberation,  find  the  prisoner. 
Capt.  Charles  Lewis,  guilty  of  the  1st,  2nd,  3rd,  and  4th 
specifications;  and  guilty  of  the  charge  preferred  against 
him  ;  and  sentence  him  to  be  dismissed  the  service  of  the 
United  States. 

"  The  General  approves  the  sentence;  and  Capt.  Charles 
Lewis  is  accordingly  dismissed  the  service  of  the  United 
States. 

"  (By  order) 

"  JAMES  BANKHEAD,  brigade  major." 

'  Pretty  specimen  of  impertinent  and  unjust  interference, 
isn't  it? '  said  Thornton  when  he  had  finished. 

'  I  know  too  little  of  military  la%w  to  say  whether  it  bo 
unjust  or  no;  but  I  should  sooner  call  it  humanity  than  im 
pertinence — if  it  makes  Capt.  Lewis  ashamed  of  what  does 
not  become  the  gentleman  and  ruins  the  man.' 


PEEFECTION.  109 

1  What  nonsense  you  do  talk  ! '  said  Thornton  angrily, 
— l  just  because  you  know  nothing  about  the  matter — or 
think  nothing.' 

'  Just  because  I  -know  and  think.  0  Thornton,  you 
should  not  defend  gambling ! — it  has  lost  us  too  much.' 

'  Lost !  how  do  you  know  that  I  ever  lost  anything  ?  ' 

*  I  know  of  one  most  precious  thing, — I  need  not  seek 
further.' 

*  It  will  be  time  enough  to  remind  me  of  that  when  I 
have  forgotten  it,'  said  the  young  man  with  an  uneasy  change 
of  posture. 

She  left  her  seat,  and  kneeling  down  by  him  leant  her 
head  on  his  shoulder.* 

'  Is  it  possible  that  you  can  remember  and  disregard  it  ? 
What  would  I  not  do — what  would  I  not  bear,  to  save  you 
from  these  false  friends — these  degrading  and  ruining  pur 
suits  !  To  see  you  take  the  part  of  a  man  and  a  Christian 
in  the  world.  To  see  you  live  for  something  more  than  the 
day's  laugh  and  the  night's  amusement.  0  Thornton,  is  it 
worthy  of  you  ?  while  this  command  stands  unerased,  "  1 
am  the  Almighty  God.  Walk  before  me  and  be  thou 
perfect. " ' 

He  was  looking  down,  somewhat  sullenly ;  and  neither 
by  word  nor  look  did  he  answer  her  words,  nor  the  hand  that 
drew  back  the  hair  from  his  forehead  as  caressingly  as  if  he 
had  been  a  child,  nor  the  earnest  eyes  that  he  knew  were 
studying  his  face.  In  his  secret  mind,  Thornton  felt  very 
much  as  if  he  were  Captain  Lewis  just  hearing  Major 
Bankhead  dismiss  him  the  service, — but  if  Rosalie's  power 
was  strong  so  also  was  his  resistance. 

'  And  you  think,'  he  said,  '  that  people's  hearts  are 
always  open  to  the  view  of  their  fellow  creatures, — that 
secret  good  and  evil  do  not  exist.' 


110  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

( I  think  anything  else,'  said  his  sister.  l  But  I  must 
believe  the  words  of  Christ,  and  he  says,  "  Whosoever  shall 
deny  me  before  men,  him  will  I  also  deny  before  my  Father 
which  is  in  heaven"  ' 

How  tenderly  it  was  spoken  !  and  yet  how  gravely  too. 
Thornton  thought  he  had  got  about  enough.  His  next  effort 
was  in  a  different  way. 

'There  is  no  doubt  of  your,  filling  your  place  as  a 
woman,'  he  said  lightly.  '  I  will  give  my  testimony  to  that 
effect  whenever  it  is  called  for.  But  for  the  present,  as  you 
do  not  belong  to  my  regiment  suppose  you  let  me  repair  to 
those  that  do.  As  to  taking  you  for  my  commanding  officer, 
I'll  think  about  it, — it's  not  always  safe  to  invest  guardians 
with  extraordinary  powers.  So  let  me  go — here  am  I 
bound  not  neck  and  heels  exactly,  but  neck  and  hand.  You 
can  rule  enough  of  the  lords  of  creation  if  you  will  only 
take  the  right  way  for  it.' 

She  had  not  tried  to  interrupt  his  words,  the  drift  of 
which  she  knew  full  well ;  and  at  last  to  get  rid  of  the 
uneasy  consciousness  that  her  eye  was  upon  him,  Thornton 
turned  suddenly  and  met  it.  The  spark  flew, — and  the 
shock  awoke  all  the  old  memories  of  his  mother  whose  look 
he  seemed  to  see  again  in  those  sweet  eyes, — memories 
which  were  or  tried  to  be  ofttimes  asleep.  Putting  his  arm 
round  Rosalie  he  drew  her  head  down  to  his  shoulder 
again. 

'  What  has  got  into  you  to-day,  pretty  one  ? '  he  said. 
'  Cannot  you  be  content  to  rule  men  in  woman's  own  way, 
and  leave  them  free  in  other  respects  ?  ' 

1  You  are  not  free — that  is  the  very  thing.' 

'  I  won't  fight  you  for  that,  seeing  you  are  my  sister,' 
said  Thornton,  '  but  I  must  really  demand  an  explanation.' 

'  "  Whosoever  committeth  sin  is  the  servant  of  sin,"  '  — 
said  his  sister  sadly. 


ONE'S  OWN  OPINIONS.  Ill 

1  You  are  cool  in  your  remarks,  at  least,'  said  Thornton 
reddening.  '  At  the  next  one  of  that  sort  I  shall  take  my 
departure.  And  I  really  had  something  to  say  to  you.' 

t  What  ?  '  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  with  a  most  dis 
arming  face  as  he  now  stood  before  her. 

1  Are  you  willing,  Lady  Paramount,  that  I  should  bring 
some  of  my  friends  here  some  evening  ? ' 

'  I  do  not  understand  you  Thornton — you  have  them 
whenever  you  please.' 

1  Of  course  !  But  I  mean  can  I  have  you  as  well  ?  will 
my  canary  bird  please  to  be  visible  ?  Well  ? — what  are  you 
meditating  ?  what  sword  thrust  am  I  to  have  now  ?  ' 

•  '  Dear  Thornton — I  wish  you  would  not  talk  so.     I  will 
see  anybody  you  wish  me  to,  of  course — if — ' 

'  Ay — there's  a  world- wide  difference  between  your  '  of 
course'  and  your  '  if,'  said  her  brother  dryly. 

'  You  know  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  I  would  not  do 
for  you  unless  I  thought  it  wrong.  I  will  see  anybody  you 
choose  to  bring  here,  and  entertain  them  to  the  best  of  my 
power, — if  the  entertainment  may  be  without  cards  or 
wine.' 

Displeased  as  he  was  Thornton  held  his  words  in  check. 
Hers  had  been  spoken  in  so  low  a  tone,  at  once  so  timid  and 
so  resolute,  that  it  shamed  him  into  gentleness.  At  last  he 
spoke,  but  in  a  constrained  voice. 

'Why  not  say 'no'  at  once?  it  would  be  rather  more 
frank,  and  save  both  time  and  trouble.' 

'  It  would  not  have  been  what  I  meant.  Is  it  quite  im 
possible  for  gentlemen  to  spend  a  pleasant  evening  without 
those  two  things  ?  ' 

4  Quite  impossible  for  me  to  offer  it.' 

{  But  why  ?  One  has  surely  a  right  to  one's  own  opinions, 
and  to  the  free  expression  of  them.' 


112  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

The  word  *  free  '  struck  him  disagreeably,  and  ho  was 
silent.  Rosalie  went  on. 

*  I  will  do  anything  that  I  can  to  give  you  or  your  guests 
pleasure,  Thornton, — I  will  lay  myself  out  for  their  enter 
tainment  ;  but  I  will  not  countenance  that  which  I  disap 
prove.' 

'  You  are  not  responsible  for  what  I  choose  to  give  mv 
guests — '  said  her  brother. 

She  quietly  repeated,  *  I  will  not  countenance  it.' 

'  Why   not  ? '   said  Thornton   looking   at   her    curiously 
*  "What  voice  has  a  canary  bird  in  the  matter  1     Can  it  make 
itself  heard  all  alone  ? ' 

'  It  shall  not  go  to  swell  the  cry  for  evil.' 

'  My  poor  little  canary  bird  ! '  said  Thornton,  but  there 
was  a  touch  of  tenderness  in  the  words  that  thrilled  through 
her.  '  My  poor  little  canary  bird, — I  am  afraid  the  cry  will 
never  join  your  sweet  voice.  And  after  all  why  should  you 
care  ?  You  don't  suppose  I  would  permit  anybody  to  drink 
too  much  in  your  presence  ?  ' 

She  smiled  slightly  and  shook  her  head,  but  the  eyes 
went  down  as  gravely  as  before. 

'  Why  not  ? '  said  Thornton,  going  back  to  the  point. 
'  What  cbncern  is  it  of  yours  ?  ' 

The  little  smile  came  again,  but  the  eyes  were  full  that 
she  raised  to  his  face  as  she  said, 

'  I  know  how  I  should  feel  if  I  were  the  sister  of  one  of 
them  at  home.' 

c  You  are  a  strange  girl !  '  said  Thornton.  <  What  are 
other  people's  brothers  to  you?  I  should  think  you  might 
find  your  own  enough  to  manage.' 

1  No,  I  would  rather  he  should  manage  himself,'  said  his 
sister  smiling. 

'  Which  is  a  polite  way  of  saying  that  he  don't.' 


TWO  WALKS.  113 

1  If  you  will  go  with  me  this  afternoon,  Thornton,  I  will 
shew  you  one  good  reason  for  what  you  call  my  whim.' 

'  My  dear  it  might  not  be  satisfactory  to  me, — or  it 
might  be  too  satisfactory — worse  still.  I  will  attend  you 
where  you  like  in  the  open  air  5  but  I  don't  wish  to  see  any 
examples  but  yours,  nor  any  cases  of  charity  but  myself — 
who  am  in  desperate  want  of  amusement  just  now.  You 
may  have  my  purse  and  welcome,  though  I  suspect  your 
own  is  the  better  filled ;  but  as  to  the  rest  I  should  only 
discomfort  myself  without  comforting  anybody  else.  So 
goodbye,  little  guardian, — since  you  give  me  leave  to  go  out 
by  myself  I  will  go,' 

He  went  forth  on  his  pleasure  seeking,  and  Rosalie 
muffled  herself  up  and  set  out  on  her  expedition  alone.  It 
was  a  keen,  wintry  day, — the  sky  cold  grey,  the  snow  cold 
white  ;  the  wind  sharpened  upon  snow  crystals.  The  city 
vanes,  like  the  Moorish  astrologer's  little  horseman,  pointed 
steadily  to  Baffin's  Bay  as  the  quarter  whence  the  enemy 
might  be  expected ;  and  a  dismal  appreciation  of  the  fact 
seemed  to  have  settled  down  upon  the  whole  outer  world. 
People  looked  blue  and  white  and  red  and  spotted, — men 
pocketed  their  hands  and  went  along  at  an  easy  run ;  the 
unkempt  portion  of  society  hugged  themselves  in  their  rags 
and  sought  sheltered  corners ;  and  the  few  ladies  who  were 
abroad  flitted  along,  the  very  sport  of  the  wind.  Rosalie 
would  have  been  glad  of  her  brother's  arm,  but  it  was  not 
there  and  she  passed  on  alone. 

In  one  of  the  poor  streets  of  the  city  lay  the  object  of  her 
walk, — a  house  as  poor  as  the  street,  with  tenants  yet 
poorer.  The  house  had  two  stories,  the  upper  one  reached 
by  an  out-of-doors  staircase ;  at  the  head  of  which  a  door  in 
two  parts  opened  into  the  front  room  of  that  floor.  Old 
furniture  of  various  families  and  complexions,  but  neatly 


114  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

dusted  and  arranged,  graced  its  walls ;  the  bit  of  rag  carpet 
was  free  from  lint  and  wrinkles,  and  the  cover  of  the  little 
table  without  a  spot  on  its  white.  A  door  stood  half  open 
into  an  adjoining  room,  where  the  darkened  light  and  the 
low  moans  that  now  and  then  were  heard,  told  their  own 
story.  An  Irish  woman  opened  the  divided  door  in  answer 
to  Miss  Clyde's  knock,  and  softly  closed  it  behind  her. 

1  It's  very  kind  of  you  to  come,  ma'am,'  she  said,  c  and 
indeed  it  was  too  bold  of  us  to  ask — only  they  said  Miss 
Clyde  never  refused  any  one.  And  indeed  we  didn't  well 
know  what  to  do.' 

Another  woman  now  entered  from  the  back  room,  and 
courtesied  to  Rosalie  but  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  speak. 

'  Is  he  any  better  ? '  said  the  young  lady  softly. 

'  No  Miss  !  not  a  bit !  just  the  same  !  Out  of  his  head 
ilways,  and  crying  and  moaning  as  you  hear.  Never  a  bet 
ter  son  than  himself! '  she  said,  covering  her  face  with  her 
apron,  '  till  he  took  to  drink.' 

'  But  how  did  this  happen  ?  '  said  Rosalie  as  she  sat  down 
in  the  chair  placed  for  her.  '  I  did  not  quite  understand 
what  was  the  matter.' 

'  Ye  see  Miss,  he  drives — that  is,  not  now,  poor  soul, 
but  he  used, — he  has  a  coach,  and  never  a  steadier  nor  a 
better  man  when  himself.  And  a  week  ago  come  Thursday 
there  was  a  party,  they  say,  and  he  went — not  to  the  party, 
at  all  at  all,  but  with  some  that  was  going.  And  it's  bitter 
could  it  was — and  ye  know  yerself,  ma'am,  the  could  is  a 
hard  thing  to  bear,  to  them  not  dressed  for  it.  Not  but  his 
coat  was  good,  but  it  wouldn't  stand  that.  And  when  he 
went  for  the  gentleman  it's  like  he  took  something  warm 
just  to  help  the  coat  as  it  were,  and  because  of  the  waiting ; 
but  he  never  got  to  the  place  at  all.  The  horses  went  on 
and  throwed  him  off,  and  next  morning  they  found  him  lying 


WHO   IS   RESPONSIBLE  ?  115 

in  the  snow  half  dead  and  buried,  and  he  the  only  hope  of 
his  mother !  And  he  hasn't  lift  his  head  since  they  brought 
him  home.' 

The  mother  walked  back  into  the  other  room  to  conceal 
or  give  way  to  her  grief,  for  her  sobs  came  mingled  with  the 
groans  of  the  sick  man. 

*  Has  he  been  in  the  habit  of  drinking?'  Rosalie  inquired 
of  the  other  woman. 

'  No  Miss — he  usen't — but  he's  took  to  it  more  in  the 
could  weather.  And  it's  no  good  talking :  for  (  See  mother,' 
he  says,  l  sure  the  gentlemen  I  drive  don't  know  so  much  as 
meself  on  the  box  sometimes,  and  sure  they  can  tell  what's 
right, — why  shouldn't  Mike  take  a  drop  of  comfort  as  well 
as  the  quality  ?  '  he  says.  '  Is  drink  worse  out  o'doors  in  the 
could  nor  it  is  in  by  the  fire  ?  '  But  he'll  niver  say  that 
again,  maybe  ! ' 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  except  in  the  way  of  money 
or  sympathy.  What  words  of  comfort  she  could  Rosalie 
spoke,  and  after  promising  to  send  a  good  physician  she 
asked  further  concerning  their  wants.  But  these  seemed  at 
present  to  be  few. 

'  The  neighbors  is  very  kind,'  said  the  mother,  who  had 
returned  to  the  front  room.  '  The  tinman's  wife  below  sent 
a  fresh  egg  from  her  own  hens,  and  the  little  china  woman 
at  the  corner  she  just  stewed  oysters  for  him  twice.  But 
bless  ye  !  it's  himself  couldn't  touch  neither  of  'em  !  And 
what  good  '11  anything  do  him  more !  Yes  Miss — I  know 
the  Lord  is  good — '  a  strong  hold  in  the  day  o'  trouble' — I 
learnt  that  long  ago.  But  it's  hard  to  trust — sometimes. — 
If  it  wasn't  all  I  had  in  the  world  !  And  to  die  so  too — 
without  a  thought  on  his  mind  at  the  last  I ' 

Rosalie  left  the  poor  little  abode,  and  remembered  nei 
ther  wind  nor  cold  till  a  long  walk  through  both  had  brought 
her  to  a  very  different  establishment. 


116 

1  Is  Dr.  Buffem  at  home  ?'  she  said  to  the  servant  who 
opened  the  door. 

He  was,  by  chance ;  and  came  bustling  into  the  parlour 
in  a  great  fit  of  amazement. 

'  Who  gave  you  leave  to  come  here  in  business  hours  ?  ' 
he  said.  *  What's  the  matter  ?  That  chicken  of  yours  can't 
be  sick,  or  you'd  never  be  here.' 

Rosalie  briefly  preferred  her  request. 

'  You  see  sir,'  she  added,  (  my  trust  among  physicians 
is  even  less  extensive  than  my  acquaintance, — so  I  was 
forced  to  come  to  you.' 

The  doctor  took  snuff  and  shook  his  head. 

1  I'll  tell  you  what  /think,'  he  said — '  /think  you  want 
a  strait  jacket.  What  business  is  it  of  yours  if  coachmen 
get  run  over  every  night  ? ' 

'  It  is  every  one's  business  to  see  that  they  do  not  die 
therefrom  without  help,'  said  Rosalie  smiling. 

*  No  it  isn't — '  said  the  doctor.   '  Not  yours. — Nonsense ! ' 

*  I  am  putting  the  business  into   your  hands  now,  sir.' 
'But  if  I  go,'  said  the  doctor,  'you  know  I  should  de 
spatch  him,  the  first  thing.     Immense  saving  of  trouble  ! ' 

I  I  will  trust  you  sir,  with  many  thanks.' 

'I  haven't  promised  to  go  yet,'  said  Dr.  Buffem.  'I've 
got  two  ladies  and  three  gentlemen  to  attend  to.  Heal 
ladies — who  don't  know  that  hackney  coachmen  have  souls, 
— and  gentlemen  who  don't  know  much  about  their  own. 
Think  of  that !  ' 

I 1  don't  like  to  think  of  it  sir — nor  of  them.     And  now 
I  will  riot  break  up  business  hours  any  further.   Dr.  Buffem — ' 

1  Yours  to  command  ! '  said  the  doctor  bowing. 
But  the  cheek  flushed  a  little  and  she  stood  hesitating. 
'  Out  with  it  1 '  said  the  doctor.     '  I  know  you  are  going 
to  say  something  very  impertinent.' 


THE  BILL.  117 

'  These  people  are  very  poor,'  she  said,  colouring  more 
and  more,  '  and — ' 

1  Hackney  coachmen  that  drink  always  are,'  said  the 
doctor  sententiously. 

'And — if — Will  you  please  send  your  bill  to  me,  sir  ?' 

*  That  you  may  break  the  amount  to  them  by  degrees  ? ' 
said  the  doctor,  looking  at  her  across  the  finger  and  thumb 
which  held  a  prepared  pinch  of  snuff. 

'  Yes,  if  you  choose  to  think  so,'  she  said  laughing. 
'  Only  send  it  to  me.' 

'  I'll  be— no  matter  what— if  I  do  ! '  said  Dr.  Buffem. 
1  Take  yourself  off,  Miss  Rosalie,  and  don't  come  here  fooling 
old  doctors.  Here  have  you  and  your  hackney  coachman 
cost  me  more  snuff  than  you'll  ever  bring  me  in.  I've  a 
great  mind  to  make  you  pay  interest  in  advance.' 

But  Rosalie  negatived  that  and  moved  towards  the  door. 

'  It  always  puts  me  out  of  patience  to  be  cheated  ! '  said 
the  doctor  following  her.  c  See  here — what's  become  of 
that  boy  who  used  to  be  always  tied  to  your  apron  string  ? 
Have  you  seen*  him  since  he  came  home  ? ' 

*  Only  once  sir.' 

So  ho  ! — <  only  once.'  How  did  you  know  what  boy  I 
meant  ? — recognise  the  description,  don't  you  ?  I'll  send  you 
some  fever  powders  when  you  get  home.  Ah  I  thought 
I'd  have  my  revenge.  Talk  to  me  of  hackney  coachmen, 
indeed  !  It'll  be  a  large  bill ! — tremendous  ! ' 

The  hour  was  late  and  dinner  waiting  when  Rosalie 
reached  home.  Hulda  was  waiting  too. 

*  O  Alie  why  didn't  you  come  before  ?     Here  has  been 
that  nice  gentleman  again.     And  there  are  two  notes  in  the 
parlour.' 

1  Well  let  me  take  off  my  bonnet  and  then  I  will  see  tc 
the  notes.' 


118  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

They  were  two,  as  Hulda  had  said.  One  to  herself,  the 
other  to  Thornton.  The  style  and  address  of  the  one  were 
peculiar,  and  Rosalie  thought  she  remembered  having  seen 
it  before, — thought  she  recollected  that  a.  similar  invitation 
(  as  this  looked  to  be)  had  kept  her  brother  out  much  later 
than  usual  one  night,  and  had  been  followed  by  days  of  pe 
culiar  distaste  for  home  and  her  society.  She  would  have 
given  anything  to  put  the  note  in  that  bright  blaze  before 
her,  ere  Thornton  came  in.  For  a  moment  the  temptation 
was  so  strong  that  she  thought  she  would  do  it, — thought 
she  would  risk  anything  to  keep  him  even  for  once  out  of 
bad  company.  But  she  remembered  that  underhand  deal 
ings  became  not  her,  and  could  not  benefit  him  in  the  long 
run, — she  must  let  things  have  their  way,  and  patiently 
wait  and  hope.  With  a  half  sigh  she  heard  her  brother 
come  in  and  felt  the  note  taken  from  her  hand. 

'  What  are  you  doing  with  my  despatches  ?'  he  said. 

'  Holding  them  safe — and  wanting  very  much  to  put 
them  in  the  fire.' 

1 1  should  like  to  see  you  do  that,'  said  Thornton  as  he 
refolded  the  note  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  c  What  is  the 
other?' 

'  Not  much — a  request  from  Mrs.  Kaynor  that  I  will 
spend  to-morrow  with  her.' 

c  And  you  will?' 

'No.' 

I  Why  not?' 

I 1  do  not  wish  to  go.' 

1 1  wonder  if  your  foot  ever  trembles  on  the  narrow  bridge 
of  truth  ? '  said  her  brother,  raising  her  face  and  survey 
ing  it  intently. 

Not  in  this  case.     But  don't  you  wish  to  go  to  dinner  ? ' 
Well  I  certainly  might  be  hungry,'  said  Thornton  as 


o 
t 


MB.    EAYNOR.  119 

he  followed  her,  c  for  I  have  been  parading  and  walking  in 
the  most  exemplary  and  orthodox  manner — quite  a-la-bon 
fils.  „  Where  have  you  been  ? ' 

*  Where  I  wish  you  had.' 

f  0 — I  remember,  and  cannot  echo  the  wish.  And  you 
have  been  working  yourself  up  to  some  untenable  point  of 
perfection,  I  suppose — a-la-vraie  femme.' 

'  Only  untenable  to  the  people  who  never  occupy  it.' 

'  By  the  way,'  said  Thornton,  { just  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing,  I  think  I  will  have  a  party  upon  the  proposed  plan. 
Only  I  shall  not  fail  to  proclaim  to  the  company  whose  '  hos 
pitable  thought  '-  contrived  it  all.' 

'  /had  company  this  morning,'  said  Hulda,  who  thought 
she  had  been  long  enough  unnoticed. 

f  Indeed  ! ' .  said  her  brother.  *  Was  it  a  wasp  or  a  yellow- 
jacket?' 

c  He  didn't  wear  a  yellow  jacket  at  all,'  said  Hulda, — 
*  it  was  a  black  one.' 

Thornton  burst  out  laughing. 

'  If  I  am  to  have  two  sisters  to  look  after,'  he  said,  l 1 
may  as  well  build  a  castle  at  once.  I  really  did  not  know 
you  were  grown  up,  Hulda.' 

Not  understanding  Greek,  Hulda  was  not  in  the  least 
discomposed. 

'  You  see  Alie,  I  ran  on  before  Martha  to  open  the  door, 
for  I  thought  maybe  it  was  you ;  and  it  was  Mr.  Raynor.' 

'  Mr.  Raynor ! '  said  Thornton,  every  particle  of  tho 
laugh  vanishing.  <  What  the  deuce  brought  him  here  ? ' 

'I  don't  think  the  deuce  brought  him  here  at  all,'  said 
Hulda,  in  a  very  dignified  manner.  <  I'm  sure  he  was  very 
pleasant,  and  a  great  deal  more  good  natured  than' — 

1  Hush,    Hulda  ! '  said  her  sister. 

A  silent  play  of  knives  and  forks  followed. 


120  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1  And  what  had  Mr.  Raynor  to  say  for  himself?'  in 
quired  Thornton,  when  he  had  swallowed  the  first  efferves 
cence  produced  by  this  information. 

1  0  not  much,'  said  Hulda.  *  Nothing  at  all  for  himself. 
He  only  kissed  me  and  asked  for  Rosalie.' 

Thornton  carried  his  fork  to  his  mouth  with  more  ex 
pression  than  is  usually  bestowed  upon  salad,  but  verbal 
remark  he  made  none. 


ICE.  121 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Not  for  my  peace  will  I  go  far, 

As  wanderers  do,  that  still  do  roam ; 
But  make  my  strengths,  such  as  they  are, 

Here  in  my  bosom,  and  at  home. — BEX  JONSON. 

1  Miss  ARNET,  ma'am,'  said  Tom,  opening  the  sitting-room 
door  next  morning. 

'  0  Marion  ! '  cried  little  Hulda  springing  towards  her, 
'  is  that  you  ?  I  thought  you  never  were  coming  here 
again.' 

' I  began  to  think  so  myself,  pet.     Good  morning,  Alie. 
Good  morning,  Captain  Thornton !     I  saw  your  troop  out, 
and  supposed  you  were  with  them.' 

'  Good  morning,  Miss  Arnet.  I  am  sorry  you  should  be 
disappointed,  but  I  can  soon  go,  if  that  be  all.' 

'  You  are  excessively  stiff  and  disagreeable  this  morn 
ing  ! '  said  Marion  colouring.  '  Can't  one  give  one's  cousin 
his  title,  without  being  immediately  hailed  as  Miss  Arnet  ?  ' 

1  It  is  in  the  nature  of  ice  to  freeze,  nevertheless,'  said 
Thornton. 

'  Alie,'  said  Marion  turning  to  her,  1 1  came  to  borrow 
this  child — will  you  let  her  go  ?  ' 

'  Ah  please  do  ! '  said  Hulda  who  was  bestowing  on  Miss 
Arnet  a  small  hundred  of  kisses.  '  I  always  like  to  go  with 
you,  Marion.  But  why  don't  you  come  here  as  you  used  to  ? 

— when  we  all  love  you  so  much.' 
6 


122  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

I  Are  you  sure  you  do? '  said  Marion.     '  Alie,  you  haven't 
spoken  to  me  yet,  except  with  those  violet  eyes  of  yours. 
Will  you  let  Hulda  go  ?  ' 

'  Yes.  and  glad.  She  is  too  quiet  here  with  me  some 
times.' 

'  0  no  I'm  not,'  said  Hulda.     '  But  I  like  to  go,  too.' 

{  Then  run  and  get  ready,  pet — get  your  bonnet,  I  mean. 
Don't  put  on  another  frock — I'll  lace-ruffle  you  if  it  is 
necessary.' 

'Why  do^you  plague  yourself  with  that  child?'  said 
Thornton. 

I 1  do  not  plague  myself  with  that  child.     Of  all  the 
children  I  ever  saw,  she  is  the  least  of  a  plague.' 

1  Your  experience  differs  widely  from  mine.' 

*  You  have  not  studied  the  subject  of  counterpoise 
Captain  Thornton.  Things  to  love  one  in  this  world  are  not 
so  plenty  that  one  can  afford  to  put  out  the  fire  of  a  child's 
affection,  for  fear  it  should  now  and  then  fill  the  room  with 
smoke.' 

'  Very  rhetorically  expressed,'  said  Thornton ;  c  and 
quite  in  Rosalie's  style.  I  should  think  she  had  been  giving 
you  lessons.' 

'  She  gives  me  a  great  many  that  I  do  not  take,'  said 
Marion  with  a  sudden  change  of  expression — '  I  wish  I  had 
ever  been  more  ready  to  learn  !  I  wish  all  the  world  were 
like  her !  Alie,  my  dear,  what  do  you  do  to  me  ?  When 
you  are  silent  I  feel  reproved  for  speaking,  and  when  you 
speak  I  feel  reproved  for  the  way  I  have  spoken.  Your 
power  is  like  nothing  but  the  old  fashion  of  a  lock  of  hair 
round  a  love-letter — very  strong,  because  nobody  would 
break  it.  One  would  have  small  compunction  about  filing  a 
chain  in  two,  but  who  could  struggle  against  such  a  lock  as 
this  ?— ' 


SMOKE.  123 

'  You  are  riding  off  too  fast  on  your  simile,'  said  her 
cousin.  *  The  hair  bound  up  only  the  lady's  own  thoughts — 
and  was  destined  to  be  untied,  after  all.' 

1  By  the  proper  person,'  said  Marion.  '  0  yes — and  I 
expect  to  see  your  power  in  other  hands  than  your  own,  by 
and  by.  Which  is  the  thing  of  all  things  that  Thornton 
least  likes  to  hear.  I  would  not  for  something  be  the  man 
to  encounter  him  in  such  circumstances.' 

1  Are  there  any  circumstances  under  which  you  would 
like  to  encounter  me,  Miss  Arnet?  ' 

*  Did  either  of  you  ever  hear/  said  Rosalie,  '  of  the  man 
who  was  so  anxious  to  bring  down  a  bird  that  when  other 
shot  failed  he  fired  all  hi*  treasures  into  the  tree-top  ?  And 
he  never  perceived  the  while  that  he  was  standing  upon  a 
cricket,  whose  overthrow  could  yield  him  neither  glory  nor 
satisfaction.' 

Marion's  eyes  filled  to  overflowing. 

'  I  have  felt  it  in  my  heart  sometimes,'  she  said.  '  But 
I  would  rather  the  cricket  should  bite  my  foot  than  send 
out  such  a  soft  little  chirp  as  that.  Here  comes  Hulda  at 
last.' 

1  At  last  ?  '  said  Hulda.  c  Why  Martha  said  I  had  been 
no  time  at  all.  Good  bye,  dear  Alie — you  won't  be 
lonely  ?  ' 

c  I  shall  be  as  happy  as  possible,  to  think  you  are,  love.' 

'  Well  do,'  said  Hulda,  with  a  somewhat  doubtful  breath. 
1  Good  bye,  Thornton.' 

1  Good  bye,'  said  her  brother.  *  Though  I  cannot  con 
ceive  what  is  the  use  of  having  a  ruffle  to  one's  shirt  if  it  is 
to  be  mussed  up  in  that  style.' 

<  Come  away,  my  dear,'  said  Miss  Arnet.  <  Thornton 
doesn't  like  smoke,' 

1  Doesn't  he  ! ?  said  Hulda.  '  Why  I  thought  he  liked  it 
BO  much  ! ' 


124  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

The  morning  passed  rather  moodily.  Thornton  seemed 
disposed  for  home  comforts — or  home  meditations,  and 
yielded  very  little  return  for  his  sister's  kind  and  delicate  at 
tempts  to  please  him.  When  at  last  he  roused  himself  to  go 
out,  however,  he  did  condescend  to  signify  his  appreciation 
of  them. 

'  You  are  like  nobody  else,  Alie — nobody  else  in  the 
world, — Marion  is  right  there.  But  whether  her  growing 
like  you  would  benefit  me  much,  may  be  questioned.  You 
are  a  stiff  enough  little  child  yourself,  and  I  don't  believe 
would  shake  her  resolution  if  you  could.' 

1 1  am  sure  I  have  tried  hard  to  shake  yours.' 

c  My  resolution  won't  shake — or  if  it  does  will  do  no 
more.  It  is  fast  at  both  ends.  And  that  child  thinks  she 
can  twirl  me  round  her  thumb — and  so  she  can  I  suppose, 
in  heart,  but  not  in  purpose.  Well — I  thought  I  had  got 
used  to  it. ' 

'  But  why  cannot  you  talk  to  each  other  peaceably,  at 
least  ?  '  said  his  sister. 

'  Because  having  said  the  most  provoking  things  we 
could  to  each  other,  the  less  provoking  come  natural,  I  pre 
sume,'  said  Thornton.  '  I  don't  think  Marion  could  speak 
to  me  as  she  speaks  to  other  people.  There  is  a  kind  of 
lemon-squeezer  effect  about  all  she  says.' 

*  I  am  sure  she  never  speaks  of  other  people  as  she  speaks 
of  you.' 

(  Well — it  may  be  ,'  said  Thornton.  '  Snows,  doesn't  it? 
— But  I  tell  you,  Alie,  it's  of  no  use  for  you  to  look  sober 
about  this — if  you  wear  such  a  face  people  will  think  my 
canary  bird  has  a  hard  jailer.' 

It  was  no  prisoner's  look  that  she  turned  to  him,  and  for 
that  he  kissed  her  more  than  once  before  he  went. 

An  hour  passed  by,  and  Rosalie  had  gone  up  to  he* 


'WELL'S  EASY  TO  SPELL/  125 

room,  and  was  beginning  the  business  of  the  toilette  in  a 
very  leisurely'  and  reflective  sort  of  way,  when  Martha 
Jumps  came  in. 

'  My  stars  alive  ! '  she  said — *  Well  if  you  ain't  all  un 
dressed  at  this  very  identical  minute  ! ' 

1  Well? — '  said  her  mistress. 

'Well's  easy  to  spell,'  said  Martha  sentcntiously,  'but 
whether  the  gentleman  down  stairs  is  agoing  over  the  letters 
to  himself,  is  a  question.' 

'  What  gentleman  ?     I  told  Tom  to  let  nobody  in.' 

*  Very  good.'  said  Martha,  '  but  you  didn't  tell  me  ;  and 
when  Tom  Skiddy's  to  the  baker's  he  ain't  at  the  front 
door,  commonly.  But  do  make  haste,  Miss  Rosalie,  be 
cause ' 

1  Because  what  ?  ' 

'  0  I  don't  know,'  said  Martha — c *  because  '  never  stays 
put  in  my  head, — it's  a  kind  of  floating  population.  I  don't 
know  who  he  asked  for  first,  neither,  but  I  told  him  Captain 

Thornton  wa'n't  home.  I  guess  it  don't  much  matter ' 

said  Martha  in  a  satisfied  tone,  as  if  it  did  matter  a  great 
deal  but  all  the  right  way. 

'  Are  you  sure  I  am  wanted  at  all,  Martha  ? 

'  Sure  as  he  is — and  there's  no  going  beyond  that,  ma'am. 
Now  you'll  soon  be  ready.  My  !  what  white  arms  !  It's  a 
mystery  to  me  what  ever  does  come  over  some  folks's  skins. 
Miss  Rosalie !  you  forgetfullest  of  all  ladies  (in  this  house),' 
said  Martha  parenthetically,  c  here's  one  of  your  rings  on  the 
washhand  stand.  There — do  go.' 

'  Lovely  she  is,  and  he  too,'  said  Martha  Jumps  to 
herself  as  she  looked  over  the  balustrade  after  her  mistress, 
— '  and  he  was  here  yesterday — that's  more.  Now  if  I  wasn't 
honourable,  which  I  am,  wouldn't  I  go  down  and  second  all 
the  motions  through  the  keyhole  !  There — shut  fast.  Such 


126  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

doors  !  I  should  think  cur'osity  'd  die  an  unnatural  death  in 
this  house,  for  want  of  air.  Well — I'll  go  look  after  Tom 
Skiddy  ! ' 

It  was  indeed  a  lovely  vision  that  Mr.  Raynor  saw  when 
the  opening  door  drew  his  eye  in  that  direction.  She  was 
dressed  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  day ;  but  her  look 
was  like  no  fashion  that  the  world  ever  saw. 

'  I  could  not  come  sooner,  Mr.  Raynor,'  she  said, — '  if 
that  is  any  apology  for  keeping  you  waiting  so  long.' 

'  I  have  been  conversing  with  an  ideal  presence,'  he  said 
with  a  slight  smile,  *  and  too  pleasantly  to  find  the  time  long. 
I  wish  I  could  hope  to  go  over  the  same  interview  with  the 
reality.' 

1  You  have  brought  your  mother  back  with  you,'  said 
Rosalie. 

'  Certainly — or  rather  she  has  brought  me.  But  she 
was  a  little  fatigued  with  the  journey,  and  has  not  been  able 
to  go  out  since  ;  or  you  would  have  seen  her.' 

*  So  I  understood — so  she  said  in  the  note  she  was  so 
kind  as  to  write  me.' 

*  The  note  whose  request  you  were  not  so  kind  as  to 
comply  with,'  said  he  smiling.     '  Why  was  it,  Miss  Rosalie  ? 
Has  the  old  friendship  died  out  on  your  side  ? ' 

c  0  no — '  she  said  earnestly. 

c  It  died  out  on  mine,  long  ago,'  said  Mr.  Raynor, — '  at 
least  if  transformation  be  death ;  and  I  should  like  to  have 
your  consent  to  the  new  order  of  things.' 

1  No,  the  old  one  was  too  good  to  be  changed.  But  ME 
Raynor ' 

*  But  Miss  Rosalie,  if  you  please,  I  am  not  ready  to  quit 
the  subject.     I  went  to  Europe  with  one  thing  in  my  mind 
that  I  had  been  forbidden  to  speak  out — though   I  begged 
hard  for  permission.     But  because  we  were  both  so  young, 


* 

A   SETTLED   PURPOSE.  127 


I  was  required  to  go  without  telling  you  in  words  who  was 
the  best  loved  of  all  the  friends  I  left  in  America — which 
indeed  I  thought  you  must  know  without  words.' 

She  sat  silently  listening,  to  him,  with  a  face  grave  and 
quiet,  as  if  her  mind  was  but  half  upon  what  he  said, — as 
if  she  knew  it  already — as  if  some  emergency  which  she  had 
expected  and  tried  to  ward  off  had  come,  and  she  knew  what 
her  answer  must  be,  and  was  trying  to  strengthen  her 
woman's  heart  and  woman's  voice  to  give  it.  A  look  very 
different  from  the  almost  sensitive  timidity  which  reigned 
there  when  no  deep  feeling  was  in  exercise.  An  expression 
which  Mr.  Raynor  had  seen  but  once  before — and  that  was 
on  the  night  of  his  arrival,  when  he  had  watched  so  long  to 
see  it  change  to  one  he  remembered  and  liked  much  better. 
He  did  not  like  it  now  at  all — he  would  rather  have  seen 
herself  more  present  to  her  inind — her  colour  deeper,  and 
her  self-control  less. 

'  Well,'  he  said  at  last — and  though  the  voice  was  gentle 
it  was  very  grave — '  what  are  you  plotting  against  me  ?  I 
see  you  knew  all  this  long  ago,  and  that  it  has  been  not 
quite  forgotten  in  the  mean  time.  I  have  told  you  my 
thoughts,  dear  Rosalie — tell  me  yours.' 

'  I  wish  they  had  never  been  told  me — that  they  had 
been  left  to  my  own  imaginings.  I  wish,  oh  how  much, 
that  if  you  had  any  such  thoughts  before  you  went  abroad, 
Mr.  Raynor.  you  had  left  them  all  there.' 

'  You  might  as  well  wish  that  I  was  not  Mr.  Raynor,  at 
once.  And  as  to  not  telling  them — I'm  afraid  I  should  not 
soon  have  you  really  at  the  head  of  my  house  if  I  waited 
for  your  '  imaginings  '  to  place  you  there.  It  is  high  time 
that  my  persuasions  came  in  aid.' 

She  passed  her  hands  over  her  face  for  a  moment,  and 
then  clasping  them  together  and  looking  up  at  him  that  ,he 
might  see  it  was  no  unsettled  purpose,  she  said, 


128  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1 1  cannot  leave  my  brother,  Mr.  Raynor.' 
He  looked  at  her  steadily  for  a  moment, — and  then  as 
her  eyes  fell  again  he  sprang  up  and  stood  before  her. 
1  But  Rosalie  !    what  sort  of  a  reason  is  that?  ' 
'  A  good  one,  if  you  will  take  the  right  point  of  view,' 
she  said  with  the  same  steadiness,  except  that  his  look  or 
his  words  had  somewhat  moved  her  lips  from  their  compo 
sure. 

I  Then   I   take   the   wrong.     It  does   not   follow,  dear 
Rosalie,  that  of  two  people   who  love  you  with  all  their 
hearts  you  should  choose  the  one  who  has  always  had  you — 
unless  he  has  all  your  heart  as  well.' 

'  But  it  does  follow  that  I  should  give  myself  to  the  one 
who  wants  me  most.' 

I 1  will  throw  down  my  gauntlet  upon  that ! ' 

*  Ah  you  do  not  take  the  right  point  of  view.  He  needs 
me  more  than  you  can  understand.' 

'  I  know  he  would  miss  you — he  could  not  help  that. 
But — would  you  have  said  this  to  me  two  years  ago  ? ' 

'  He  would  not  have  been  left  alone  then.' 

(  And  you  are  left  alone  now.  Forgive  me,  dear  Rosalie 
— I  do  not  say  it  in  unkindness — but  ought  you  not  to  take 
some  care  of  yourself?  Is  it  quite  right  to  think  only  of 
another's  whims  and  fancies  ?  ' 

( He  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,'  she  sajd  quickly — *  at 

least  not  in  the  way  you  suppose.  But  Mr.  Raynor ' 

She  paused  a  moment  and  then  went  on. 

'  I  must  tell  you  all — it  is  but  just.  Mr.  Raynor,  I  am 
the  only  friend  he  has  in  the  world  !  Of  all  the  people  with 
whom  he  most  associates  there  is  not  one",  there  is  not  one  ! 
whose  influence  for  good  is  at  best  more  than  neutral.  He 
does  not  go  the  lengths  that  some  of  them  go — he  has  a 
•little  remembrance  yet  of  what  he  was — a  sense  of  honour 


NOT    THE   WHOLE    PATH   CLEAR.  129 

and  truth  as  strong  as  he  ever  had.  But  if  he  has  any 
regard  for  my  words,  any  love  for  me — and  you  know  not 
how  much ! — could  I  be  justified  in  leaving  him  to  the  un 
mitigated  influence  of  worthless  companions  and  unworthy  - 
pursuits  ? ' 

She  had  spoken  very  low  at  first,  with  evident  grief  and 
mortification ;  looking  up  then  with  her  whole  heart  in  her 
eyes,  and  yet  with  those  same  meekly  folded  hands,  as  if 
beseeching  him  neither  to  urge  nor  distrust  her. 

He  met  the  look,  and  then  turning  abruptly  away  he 
began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room  ;  but  more  in  excite 
ment  than  in  thoughtfulness.  Walking  as  if  the  disturbed 
spirit  could  not  subside,  and  without  once  looking  towards 
Rosalie. 

1  You  are  displeased,  Mr.  Raynor,'  she  said  at  length. 
c  You  think  I  am  trifling  with  you.' 

He  came  to  the  end  of  the  sofa  where  she  sat,  and  took 
her  hand  in  both  of  his. 

1  Nothing  upon  earth  could  make  me  think  that !  But 
I  cannot  bring  my  mind  to  look  at  things  as  you  do, — 
neither  is  the  feeling  wholly  selfish.  If  you  could  see  your 
self  with  the  eyes  of  a  third  person,  Rosalie,  you  would 
understand  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  want  you  to  be  my 
wife,  much  better  than  you  can  now.  Is  it  right,  I  must  ask 
you  again,  to  forget  yourself  entirely  ?  to  take  no  care  for 
yourself? ' 

'  No — perhaps  not — '  she  said,  but  the  voice  was  less 
clear  and  steady — '  in  one  respect  you  may  be  right.  But 
one  needs  to  take  a  very  wide  view  of  things.  I  do  not 
speak  without  consideration.  I  know  too,  that  it  is  not  in 
my  hands — that  I  have  no  power  that  is  not  given  me, — and 
I  cannot  tell  how  things  will  turn  out.  But  God  seldom 
makes  the  whole  path  clear  before  us — it  is  only  the  first 
6* 


130  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

few  steps.  Should  I  therefore  refuse  to  take  them  ?  0  Mr. 
Raynor !  you  have  known  what  it  was  to  live  without  God 
and  without  hope  in  the  world — is  anything  too  much  to 
bring  one  out  of  that  condition  ?  ' 

She  gathered  breath  and  went  on. 

'  I  have  thought — very  much  of  late — of  the  day  when 
"  them  that  sleep  in  Jesus  God  shall  bring  with  him  " — 
when  the  book  of  life  shall  be  opened.  It  is  not  enough  to 
know  that  her  name  is  written  there — to  hope  that  mine 
stands  by  it ' 

'  I  know  it  is  not  in  my  hands — '  she  went  on  presently, 
— *  and  yet  I  cannot  leave  him  !  ' 

She  said  no  more,  and  sat  silent,  except  for  those  silently 
flowing  tears. 

*  I  dare  not  urge  you — '  Mr.  Raynor  said  then.  '  I 
dare  not  put  my  own  earthly  happiness,  nor  even  yours, 
dear  Rosalie,  in  competition  with  another's  eternal  welfare. 
The  sick  of  the  palsy  was  healed  for  the  faith  of  them  that 
brought  him.  Surely  if  ever  endeavours  were  blessed, 
yours  might  be  !  But  tell  me  one  thing — was  this  the  only 
reason  ? ' 

c  If  there  had  been  another  you  should  never  have  heard 
this,'  she  said. 

'  I  might  have  answered  that  myself.' 

He  stood  silent  and  grave,  as  if  the  struggle  were  in  his 
mind  yet,  till  she  rose  up  and  said, 

'  Good  bye,  Mr.  Raynor — you  must  not  stay  here  any 
longer — and  for  the  future  we  must  be  only  common 
friends.' 

c  I  must  not  stay  here  any  longer  at  present,'  he  said 
with  some  emphasis,  '  but  I  do  not  give  up  ray  claim — it  is 
3>nly  postponed.  Nay,  do  not  contradict  me.  And  we  must 
not  be  common  friends — for  I  have  a  more  than  brother's 


THE   SHADOWS   OF   LIFE.  131 

right  to  be  called  upon,  and  shall  perhaps  assume  that  right 
to  watch  over  you,  whether  I  have  it  or  not.  And  as  for 
you,  dear  child, — "  The  Lord  bless  thee,  and  keep  thee  :  the 
Lord  make  his  face  shine  upon  thee,  and  be  gracious  unto 
thee-:  the  Lord  lift  up  his  countenance  upon  thee,  and  give 
thee  peace  !  "  ' 

He  went — and  as  the  door  closed  behind  him  Rosalie 
felt  as  if  she  had  taken  leave  of  the  sunshine  of  life,  and 
turned  her  face  unto  the  shadows.  Hulda  thought  her 
sister  very  tired  that  evening  ; — and.  when  late  at  night 
Thornton  came  home  and  went  to  take  a  look  at  the  sweet 
face  whose  pleadings  he  so  often  disregarded,  he  found  its 
expression  more  hard  to  read  than  usual.  He  was  sure 
there  had  been  sorrowful  thoughts  at  work — that  the  foun 
tain  of  tears  was  hardly  at  rest  now ;  but  for  whom  had 
they  come  ?  Not  for  herself.  He  could  not  trace  one 
murmur  on  the  placid  brow,  and  the  mouth  seemed  to  speak 
what  had  been  her  last  waking  thoughts — "  And  now.  Lord, 
what  wait  I  for£  my  hope  is  in  thee." 

But  had  they  been  for  him  ?  Thornton  puzzled  over  it 
till  he  was  tired,  and  went  to  bed  to  dream  that  h'e  had 
forbidden  Mr.  Raynor  the  house. 


132  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


"With  thy  clear  keen  joyance 

Languor  cannot  be ; 
Shadow  of  annoyance 
Never  came  near  thee. — SHELLY. 


IT  was  one  of  those  warm  foretokens  of  summer  which  are 
sometimes  sent  by  the  hand  of  April.  With  sympathetic 
laziness  people  strolled  along  through  the  sunshine ;  the 
street  sprinklers  passed  on  with  their  carts,  and  birds  and 
radish  boys  were  clamorous.  The  leaves  came  out  apace 
but  stealthily,  and  the  very,  air  was  breathless.  And  yet 
there  floated  in  from  the' storehouses  of  fresh  things,  fresh 
influences.  The  silence  spoke  of  sweet  sounds  in  the  wilder 
ness  of  nature,  to  the  wilderness  of  men ;  and  flowers  came 
not  on  ( the  wings  of  the  wind,'  but  their  own  breath ;  and 
over  all  there  was  a  sky  so  purely  blue — so  free  from  tur 
moil  and  pollution, — that  it  seemed  as  if  the' last  revolution 
of  the  earth  had  rolled  New  York  away  from  its  own  proper 
atmosphere,  and  bestowed  it  beneath  a  new  canopy.  How 
far  removed  from  the  sights  and  sounds — the  steps,  the 
rattling  wheels,  the  drums,  the  cries,  that  spread  themselves 
through  the  city. 

So  thought  Miss  Clyde,  as  with  little  Hulda  in  her  hand 
she  went  slowly  home  from  a  walk.  How  few,  she  thought, 
how  very  few  there  were  that  appreciated  or  even  noticed 


THE   SPUING    DAY.  133 

that  '  clear  expanse,' — bow  few  that  would  not  mourn  if  the 
word  were  sent  to  them,  '  Come  up  hither.'  The  very  birds 
were  longing  to  try  their  wings  in  such  an  element ;  and 
man  chose  the  dust,  and  looked  down  and  not  up.  A  little 
pressure  of  her  hand  brought  her  eyes  down.  Hulda  was 
studying  her  face  as  intently  as  she  had  watched  the  sky. 
'  Are  you  tired,  love  ?  ' 

I  0  no,'  said  Hulda,  '  but  I  didn't  know  what  you  were 
thinking  of.     There's  a  carriage  at  our  door.' 

Somewhat  wondering  with  herself  what  could  have  made 
Mrs.  Raynor  go  in  and  wait  for  her,  Rosalie  mounted  the 
steps,  and  her  wonder  was  not  lessened  to  find  Thornton  in 
the  parlour. 

The  good  quakeress  spoke  not  a  word  till  she  had  kissed 
her  first  upon  one  cheek  and  then  on  the  other,  even  more 
tenderly  than  usual. 

'  I  have  made  acquaintance  with  thy  brother,'  she  said 
then — '  I  would  know  everybody  that  loves  thee  and  whom 
thou  dost  love.' 

'  That  is  not  a  very  safe  rule  to  go  by  neither,'  said 
Thornton.  *  In  this  case,  Mrs.  Raynor,  Rosalie  loves  some 
body  very  different  from  herself.' 

Mrs.  Raynor  looked  as  if  she  knew  it  full  well — or  at 
least  as  if  she  thought  the  people  who  resembled  Rosalie 
were  few. 

'  And  thou,  dear  little  Hulda,'  she  said,  sitting  down  and 
taking  the  child  on  her  lap — c  wilt  thou  come  home  with  me 
and  see  my  flowers  ?  ' 

Hulda  looked  doubtfully  towards  her  sister  and  then  up 
at  the  soft,  quiet  eyes  that  looked  down  upon  her.  She  had 
to  resort  to  the  childish  formula  of  hesitation, 

I 1  don't  know,  ma'am.' 

'  Yes,  thou  wilt  come,'  said  the  quakeress  decisively — 


134  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  thy  sister  will  not  say  nay  to  thy  going.  Thou  and  I  will 
have  the  carriage  all  to  ourselves,  and  we  will  get  home  be 
fore  dinner.' 

*  But  how  shall  I  get  back  again  ?  '  said  Hulda  smiling. 
'We  will  see — mayhap  thy  friend  Henry  Raynor ~  will 

bring  tbce.' 

*  Is  that  the  same  Mr.  Raynor  that  came  here  once — no, 
two  times  ? '  said  Hulda. 

1  Truly  love  I  think  there  is  but  one  Henry  Raynor,' 
said  his  mother. 

1  0  then  I  should  like  to  go,  very  much.' 

And  jumping  down  to  ask  her  sister's  leave,  Hulda  ran 
away  up  stairs. 

'  He  hath  taken  a  strange  fancy  to  thy  little  pet,'  said 
the  quakeress,  looking  however  rather  towards  Thornton. 

1  To  Rosalie's  pet,  Mrs.  Raynor — I  am  fonder  of  grown 
up  humanity.' 

'  Thou  hast  never  known  what  it  was  to  lose  such  a 
little  pure  spirit  from  thy  house,'  said  the  quakeress  with  a 
sigh,  '  or  thee  would  better  appreciate  it.  But  thou  hast  a 
large  share,  friend  Thornton,  and  when  *  the  cup  runneth 
over,'  the  drops  are  less  precious.' 

*  I  have  not  a  drop  too  many,'   said   Thornton,  with  an 
expression   he   was   hardly   conscious   of.     l  You   know   it 
takes  more  to  make  some  people  happy  than  others,  Mrs. 
Raynor.' 

'  I  know  there  is  but  one  thing  which  of  itself  bringeth 
happiness,'  she  said — '  perhaps  without  that  thy  remark  may 
be  just.  But  here  cometh  one  whose  happiness  is  of  easy 
growth.  And  yet,  Rosalie,  she  demurreth  about  leaving 
thee  even  for  one  day.1 

There  was  certainly  considerable  doubt  on  Hulda's  mind 
except  when  she  looked  at  Mrs.  Raynor ;  but  there  she 


MOUSE    COLOUR.  135 

found  something  so  attractive  that  she  was  allured  on,  and 
soon  found  herself  doing  anything  else  but  fill  a  place  in  the 
carriage.  Stowed  away  like  a  small  parcel  on  the  spacious 
seat,  her  little  shoes  in  plain  sight,  with  one  hand  stretched 
over  Mrs.  Raynor's  soft  dress  and  there  held  fast,  Hulda 
watched  through  the  front  window  the  substantial  back  of 
Caleb  Williams,  and  thought  how  very  funny  it  was  for  a 
coachman  to  wear  a  grey  coat.  The  carriage  rolled  smoothly 
on  in  the  most  regular  and  matter-of-fact  way  possible, — as 
if  Caleb  and  his  horses  had  made  an  arrangement  that  they 
were  not  to  get  home  before  a  certain  time,  and  therefore  it 
was  as  well  to  take  it  easy. 

Hulda  remembered  how  Thornton's  horses  went  now  very 
fast  and  now  slow,  and  then  started  off  again  at  a  most 
eccentric  pace ;  but  at  this  rate  she  could  have  slept  all  the 
way  to  Mrs.  Raynor's  with  no  disturbance.  Arrived  at  the 
house  another  wonder  awaited  Hulda,  for  there  was  a  foot 
man  all  in  grey  too  ;  and  when  she  had  followed  Mrs.  Raynor 
up  stairs,  and  Rachel  came  at  her  mistress's  call  habited 
after  the  same  sober  fashion,  Hulda  began  to  feel  as  if  all 
the  world  were  turning  mouse  colour,  and  looked  down  at  her 
crimson  merino  with  feelings  of  amazement. 

'  Thee  sees  I  have  brought  home  little  Hulda  Clyde, 
Rachel,'  said  Mrs.  Raynor.  '  Will  thee  take  off  the  child's 
bonnet  and  cloak,  and  see  if  perchance  her  feet  be  cold  ?  ' 

'  Yea  verily,'  said  Rachel,  when  she  had  brought  her 
mistress  another  dress.  '  Art  thou  cold,  Hulda  ?  ' 

'  0  no,'  said  Hulda,  whose  mind  had  got  beyond  the  cold 
region  and  was  in  a  great  puzzle,  for  Rachel  had  not  only 
Mrs.  Raynor's  stuff  gown  but  also  her  cap  !  '  I'm  not  cold 
at  all.' 

'  Doth  thy  dress  keep  thee  warm  ?  '  said  Rachel,  with  a 
grave  irony  which  Hulda  did  not  understand. 


136  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1  Yes  ma'am,'  she  said,  in  a  new  difficulty  from  the  simi 
larity  of  neckerchiefs — '  I  suppose  so — my  frock  and  my 
coat.' 

Rachel  almost  smiled  at  the  grave  little  face — so  sincere 
and  so  wide  awake. 

1  Did  thee  ever  see  a  fire-fly,  child  ?  '  she  inquired. 

'  No,'  said  Hulda,  '  but  Rosalie  told  me  about  them. 
They're  such  bright  and  beautiful  things  that  go  flying  all 
about  in  the  evening.' 

1  Now  thou  art  all  ready,'  said  Mrs.  Raynor  approaching 
them,  '  and  likewise  I,  and  we  will  go  down  stairs.' 

*  There  waiteth  a  woman  this  long  time,'  said  Rachel, 
1  and  she  will  not  tell  her  want  save  to  thee.  James  Hoxton 
hath  brought  her  to  the  kitchen.' 

'  I  will  straightway  20  and  see  her,'  said  Mrs.  Raynor. 
'  And  for  thee,  little  Hulda,  wilt  thou  sit  by  thyself  in  the 
library  until  I  come  ?  and  Rachel  shall  bring  thee  the  cat.' 

It  never  would  have  occurred  to  Hulda  that  a  tortoise* 
shell  cat  could  come  to  keep  her  bright  dress  company ;  and 
therefore  when  a  grave  knight  of  Malta  walked  in,  she  felt 
that  he  was  one  of  the  family. 

1  Art  thou  afraid  to  stay  here  alone  ? J  said  Rachel,  when 
she  had  watched  the  knight's  reception. 

1  Why  what  should  I  be  afraid  of?  '  said  Hulda. 

(  Truly  little  one,  thee  has  reason,'  said  the  handmaid  as 
she  departed. 

Hulda  had  sat  some  time  upon  the  rug  in  front  of  the 
fire,  and  Maltese  was  quite  expanding  beneath  her  caresses ; 
when  somebody  came  in  and  took  a  chair  behind  her,  and 
she  was  lifted  up,  cat  and  all,  upon  Mr.  Raynor's  lap.  He 
was  not  in  grey — Hulda  saw  that  at  a  glance — but  in  a  blue 
uniform  with  red  facings,  very  much  like  her  dress.  She 
felt  quite  comforted.  But  when  she  got  a  fair  view  of  his 


AMONG   THE   FRIENDS.  137 

face — -for  at  first  it  was  too  close  to  her  own — she  saw  that 
he  had  his  share  of  the  sober  colour,  only  worn  differently. 
But  what  made  him  look  so  at  her  ?  There  was  something 
in  his  face  that  troubled  her,  and  almost  tearfully  her  eyes 
sought  his.  He  smiled  then,  and  drawing  her  head  down 
till  it  rested  against  him,  he  asked  how  she  was,  and  then 
after  her  sister. 

1  0  she's  very  well,'  said  Hulda  stroking  the  cat.  ( I 
suppose  she's  always  well  for  she  never  says  she's  sick.  Do 
you  think  she'll  miss  me  to-day,  Mr.  Raynor?  ' 

'  I  do  not  believe  she  is  sorry  you  came,  dear  Hulda,  and 
I  am  very  glad.' 

Hulda  thought  that  was  very  strange. 

{  Henry  Raynor,'  said  his  mother  as  she  came  into  the 
room,  '  go  I  pray  thee  and  take  off  those  trappings  at  once, 
my  child ;  I  like  them  not — they  become  no  man — much  less 
thee.' 

1  Then  you  must  get  down,  little  Hulda,  for  a  while,  if  I 
am  to  go  and  change  my  dress.' 

It  was  a  great  pity,  Hulda  thought,  with  an  uncomfort 
able  vision  of  her  friend  arrayed  in  the  prevailing  colour. 

But  when  he  came  down  again  the  dress  was  black  and 
not  grey ;  and  Hulda  went  to  her  former  seat  with  great 
satisfaction. 

1  The  dinner  waiteth,'  said  James  Hoxtou  opening  the 
door. 

4  You  don't  think  yourself  too  old  to  be  carried,  Hulda  ? ' 
said  her  friend. 

'  0  no,'  said  Hulda,  c  Alie  very  often  carries  me  up  stairs 
when  I'm  tired  or  sick.' 

'  I  should  think  thy  weight  better  suited  to  thy  brother's 
arms  than  to  thy  sister's,'  said  Mrs.  Raynor,  '  as  having 
more  strength.1 


138  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  0  her  arms  are  very  strong ! '  said  Hulda  from  her 
place  of  elevation.  '  They  never  get  tired.  And  Thornton's 
not  at  home  you  know  generally  when  I  want  to  be  carried 
— but  Rosalie  always  is.  She  says  gentlemen  can't  always 
be  at  home  so  much  as  ladies.  But  she  don't  hold  me  quite 
as  well  as  you  do,  Mr.  Raynor.' 

And  with  one  arm  passed  most  confidingly  round  his 
neck,  they  went  forth  together  and  proceeded  to  the  dinner 
table ;  where  Hulda  was  as  well  taken  care  of  as  possible. 
Taken  care  of  in  more  ways  than  one,  though  she  was  too 
young  and  unskilled  to  notice  the  delicate  tact  with  which 
whenever  her  childish  talk  ran  too  close  upon  home  affairs 
she  was  led  off  to  another  subject  \  nor  how  carefully  she 
was  kept,  as  far  as  might  be,  from  making  disclosures  which 
indeed  she  knew  not  were  such.  And  if  she  had  been  older 
she  would  have  wondered  at  herself  for  her  perfect  at  home 
feeling  among  such  grave  people; — for  the  freedom  with 
which  she  talked, — her  little  voice  making  music  such  as  it 
never  yields  when  the  chords  have  been  once  overstrained 
or  the  wires  unstrung — most  like  a  mountain  rill  in  its 
sweet  erratic  course.  And  the  older  ones  looked  and 
listened — Mrs.  Raynor  with  often  a  smile  and  sometimes 
with  glistening  eyes ;  while  to  his  face  the  smile  came  less 
often,  and  there  was  only  the  look  of  interest  and  affection 
which  won  Hulda's  heart  yet  more.  And  whenever  the  rill 
went  too  far  in  any  one  direction,  it  was  only  necessary  to 
hold  out  a  painted  leaf — some  bright  word  or  question  or 
anecdote — aneLthe  rill  was  tempted,  and  went  that  way. 
On  the  whole  Hulda  thought  as  she  was  carried  back  into 
the  library,  it  had  been  one  of  the  most  satisfactory  dinners 
she  ever  remembered. 

4  Hulda  Clyde,'  said  Mrs.  Raynor,  '  I  go  up-stairs  to 
sleep,  as  is  my  wont.  What  wilt  thou  do,  my  child  ?  ' 


VERY   FAIK.  139 

'  0  I  will  stay  here,'  said  Hulda. 

1  You  can  content  yourself  for  a  while  with  the  cat  and 
me,  I  am  sure,'  said  Mr.  Raynor. 

'  0  yes — and  without  the  cat,'  said  Hulda  contentedly. 

He  smiled,  and  his  mother  came  up  behind  him,  and 
passing  her  arm  round  his  neck  as  if  he  had  been  a  child, 
raised  up  his  face  and  kissed  it,  and  went  away. 

I  What  do  you  think  of  my  being  made  a  baby  of  yet, 
Hulda  ? ' 

'  Thornton  says  that's  what  mamma  used  to  do  with 
Rosalie,'  said  Hulda,  whose  little  avenues  of  thought  all  ran 
down  to  the  same  stronghold  of  love  and  confidence.  '  Did 
you  ever  see  my  mamma,  Mr.  Raynor  ? ' 

'  Yes,  dear,  often ;  and  loved  her  very  much.' 

I 1  don't  remember  her  a  great  deal,'  said  Hulda — c  I 
believe  I  get  her  confused  with  Rosalie.' 

She  sat  quiet  a  few  minutes  and  then  started  "up. 

4  Don't  you  want  to  go  to  sleep,  Mr.  Raynor  ? ' 

'Don't  you?' 

'  0  no — not  a  bit.' 

<  Neither  do  I.' 

1  Well  that'll  be  very  fair,  then,'  said  Hulda  laughing. 
c  But  I  should  think  you'd  get  tired  of  holding  me,  Mr. 
Raynor — most  people  don't  like  to.' 

'  I  once  had  such  a  little  sister  as  you  are,  Hulda — whom 
I  loved  better  than  almost  anything  else  in  the  world.  You 
remind  me  of  her  very  much,  and  that  is  one  reason  why  I 
like  to  hold  you  and  kiss  you  and  carry  you,  and  do  anything 
else  with  you  and  for  you.' 

*  I'm  very  glad  ! '  said  Hulda,  her  smile  half  checked  by 
something  in  his  look  and  tone.  'So  that's  one  reason. 
What's  the  other  ? ' 

He  smiled  and  told  her  she  must  be  content  with  hearing 


140  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

one  ;  and  then  asked  her  what  she  had  been  doing  and 
learning  lately. 

'  I  don't  learn  a  great  deal,'  said  Hulda — c  only  arithme 
tic  and  geography  and  little,  little  bits  of  French  lessons. 
And  then  I  write — and  I  have  one  hymn  to  learn  a  week, 
and  a  little  verse  every  day.' 

'  Tell  me  one  of  your  hymns.' 

'  Then  I  will  tell  you  the  last  one,'  said  Hulda. 

'  "  Around  the  throne  of  God  in  heaven, 

Ihousands  of  children  stand ; 
Children  whose  sins  are  all  forgiven, 
A  holy,  happy  band — 

Singing  glory,  glory,  glory. 

'  "  What  brought  them  to  that  world  above — 

That  heaven  so  bright  and  fair — 

"Where  all  is  peace  and  joy  and  love  ? — 

How  came  those  children  there, 

Singing  glory,  glory,  glory  ? 

' "  Because- the  Saviour  shed  his  blood 

To  wash  away  their  sin ; 
Bathed  in  that  pure  and  precious  flood, 
Behold  them  white  and  clean — 

Singing  glory,  glory,  glory. 

' "  On  earth  they  sought  their  Saviour's  grace, 

On  earth  they  loved  his  name  ; 
So  now  they  see  his  blessed  face, 
And  stand  before  the  Lamb— 
Singing  glory,  glory,  glory." ' 

*  Don't  you  think  it's  pretty  ? '  said  Hulda,  when  she 
had  waited  what  she  thought  a  reasonable  time  for  Mr. 
Ilaynor  to  speak,  and  he  had  only  drawn  his  arm  closer 
about  her. 


IS   THERE   NOBODY   GOOD  ?  141 

'  I  think  it  is  much  more  than  pretty.  Do  you  under 
stand  it  all  ? ' 

'  I  believe  so — '  said  Hulda — '  Rosalie  told  me  a  great 
deal  about  it.' 

<  What  ? ' 

'  Why  she  said  that  even  children  needed  to  bo  for 
given  before  they  went  to  heaven — that  was  one  thing  in  the 
first  verse, — and  that  people  ought  to  try  to  make  this 
world  as  much  like  heaven  as  they  could,  and  that  if  all  was 
peace  and  joy  and  love  there  it  ought  to  be  here.  And  then 
in  the  third  verse,  that  we  didn't  only  need  to  be  forgiven, 
but  made  good  and  to  love  all  good  things,  and  that  if  God 
didn't  make  us  love  him  and  like  to  serve  him,  we  never 
could  be  happy  in  heaven  even  if  we  could  get  there.  And 
she  said  the  blood  of  Christ  was  called  a  flood  because  it  was 

/ 

enough  to  save  everybody  in  the  whole  world — and  to  make 
them  clean,  if  they  would  only  trust  in  it.  And  she  said 
the  last  verse  taught  us  that  we  must  love  and  serve  him 
now,  while  we  are  here,  and  then  when  we  die  he  would 
receive  us  to  himself.' 

1  And  what  does  that  word  '  white '  mean  in  the  third 
verse — '  Behold  them  white  and  clean'  ?  ' 

*  Don't  it  mean  something  like  clean  ?  '  said  Hulda. 

1  Something  like,  yes.  It  shews  how  very  pure,  how 
very  holy,  will  all  God's  children  be  when  he  has  taken  them 
to  heaven.  As  the  Bible  says — "  they  are  without  spot  be 
fore  the  throne  of  God" — "without  fault  before  %him" 
— think  how  very  holy  one  must  be  in  whom  the  pure  eye 
of  God  sees  neither  spot  nor  fault.  Such  are  all  the  children 
about  his  throne — and  because  thus  holy  they  are  happy.' 

•  '  Do  you  think  there  is  nobody  that  is  quite  good  ?  '  said 
Hulda  with  a  face  of  very  grave  reflection. 

(  The  Bible  says,  "  there  is  not  a  just  man  upon  earth 
that  doeth  good  and  sinneth  not.'  " 


142  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'I  know  it  does,'  said  Hulda,  who  was  apparently  a 
little  troubled  with  some"  reservation  in  her  mind.  *  But 
that  only  says  men.  I  don't  suppose  there  are  a  great 
many.' 

Mrs.  Raynor  came  down  from  her  nap  in  due  time,  and 
then  proposed  that  they  should  go  into  the  greenhouse. 
Hulda  was  enchanted;  and  ran  about  and  admired  and 
asked  questions  to  the  delight  of  both  her  friends. 

'  Would  thee  like  some  flowers  to  take  home  with  thee  ? ' 
said  the  good  quakeress,  drawing  Hulda's  head  close  to 
her.  And  Mr.  Raynor's  knife  hardly  waited  the  reply 
before  it  began  its  work.  Hulda's  little  hands  had  as  many 
as  they  could  hold. 

*  And  now  thee  must  have  one  flower  for  thy  sister — 
yea,  Henry,  thou  art  always  right,'  she  said,  as  her  son  be 
gan  to  examine  the  respective  merits  of  the  white  camellias. 
1  They  are  not  the  fairer.' 

'  0  Mr.  Raynor !  you  are  cutting  the  very  prettiest 
one  ! '  cried  Hulda.  '  0  it  was  too  bad  to  take  that.' 

{ Is  it  too  pretty  for  your  sister  ?  ' 

'  0  I  don't  think  so,  of  course,'  said  Hulda, — 'but  then 
it  was  your  little  bush.' 

Hulda  wondered  at  the  smile  that  passed  over  his  face, 
and  looked  if  she  might  see  it  come  again,  but  it  came  not. 

He  tied  up  her  flowers  and  put  them  in  water  for  her, 
and  walked  with  her  about  the  greenhouse  till  the  last  sun 
beams  had  left  it,  and  the  flowers  grew  indistinct. 

'  Friend  Henry,'  said  James  Hoxton  appearing  at  this 
juncture,  '  thy  mother  waiteth  for  thee  at  tea.' 

1  James  Hoxton  is  a  quaker/  said  Mr.  Raynor  with  a 
smile  at  Hulda's  look. 

'  Does  that  make  him  speak  to  you  so  ?  '  said  Hulda. 
'  You  are  not  a  quaker,  Mr.  Raynor  ? ' 


A   PRECIOUS   LITTLE   THING.  143 

'  No.  If  I  were  a  quaker,  Hulda,  I  should  call  my 
mother  '  friend  Joan.' ' 

1  Should  you !  But  that  would  be  very  disrespectful,' 
said  Hulda. 

'  No — not  if  I  were  a  quaker.' 

'  0 — '  said  Hulda,  a  little  and  only  a  little  enlightened. 
*  I'mivery  glad  you're  not  a  quaker — I  don't  like  grey  at 
all ; '  though  when  she  got  to  the  tea  table,  Hulda  could  not 
help  liking  everything  about  Mrs.  Raynor — even  her  grey 
dress. 

Mr.  Raynor  took  her  home  in  the  carriage  after  tea.  Not 
sitting  by  his  side  but  on  his  lap,  and  wrapped  up  in  his 
arms  as  if  she  were  a  precious  little  thing  that  he  was  afraid 
to  lose  sight  of.  But  he  would  not  come  in,  though  Hulda 
begged  and  entreated  him.  He  earried  her  and  her  flowers 
up  the  steps  and  into  the  hall  where  Tom  stood  holding  the 
door,  and  then  ran  down  again  and  in  a  moment  was  in  the 
carriage  and  off. 


144  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

So  th1  one  for  wrong,  the  other  strives  for  right. — Faery  Queen. 

1  WELL,  what  sort  of  a  time  did  you  have  among  the  quakers 
yesterday  ? '  said  Thornton  when  he  saw  Hulda  at  breakfast 
next  morning. 

4  0  it  was  beautiful !  ''said  Hulda  with  a  pause  of  delight 
in  the  midst  of  buttering  Ker  roll. 

'  What  was  beautiful  ?  ' 

'  0  everything !  And  they  were  so  kind  to  me — and  I 
like  Mr.  Raynor  so  much  !  And  the  flowers — 0  Thornton, 
did  you  see  mine  that  I  brought  home  ?  and  the  camellia  ? 
That  is  Rosalie's ;  and  it  was  the  very  prettiest  one  they 
had  ;  and  I  told  Mr.  Raynor  so,  and  yet  he  would  cut  it.' 

'  Perhaps  he  did  not  agree  with  you.' 

<  0  yes  he  did.  I  thought  he  was  going  to  cut  a  white 
one  at  first  and  then  he  chose  this.' 

1  Then  he  did  not  choose  the  prettiest,  to  my  fancy,'  said 
Thornton. 

'  Why  you  don't  know  anything  about  it ! '  cried  Hulda. 
{ I  never  saw  such  a  beauty,  and  I  don't  believe  you  ever 
did.'  And  away  she  ran  to  bring  ocular  proof  of  the  ca 
mellia's  perfectness.  No  further  argument  was  necessary  ; 
for  admirable  kind  and  culture  had  produced  one  of  those 
exquisite  results  that  the  eye  is  never  satisfied  with  seeing. 
Thornton  silently  took  it  in  his  hand  to  examine. 


MISS  CLYDE'S  BLUSH.  145 

The  flower  was  hardly  at  its  full  opening,  two  or  three 
of  the  inner  petals  being  yet  inclined  towards  each  other 
with  a  budlike  effect ;  but  the  rest  lay  folded  back  in  clear 
glossy  beauty,  .leaf  beyond  leaf — each  one  as  spotless  and 
perfect  as  the  last.  They  were  of  a  delicious  rose  colour 
— not  very  deep,  but  pure,  perfect,  as  a  tint  could  be  ;  and 
the  stem,  which  had  been  cut  some  inches  below  the  flower, 
spread  out  for  it  an  admirable  foil  in  two  or  three  deep 
green  leaves. 

'  Isn't  that  beautiful  ? '  said  Hulda,  who  stood  at  her 
brother's  side  with  her  little  hands  folded  and  her  little  face 
in  a  rival  glow. 

c  Exquisite  ! — I  never  saw  such  a  one  !  Alie,  I  must 
get  you  a  plant.  I  wonder  what  is  its  name,  if  it  has  any.' 

1  There  was  a  little  stick  stuck  in  the  flower  pot,'  said 
Hulda,  'but  I  don't  know  what  was  on  it.' 

'Do  you  know?'  said  Thornton  looking  towards  his 
sister. 

*  I  think,  I  believe  it  is  called  Lady  Hume's  blush.' 

Thornton  laughed. 

(  This  is  probably  a  variety  called  Miss  Clyde's  blush. 
It  might  be  at  all  events.  Methinks  the  quakers  performed 
some  conjuration  over  you,  Hulda, — it  seems  that  you  have 
suddenly  become  a  little  conductor — a  sort  of  electric  ma 
chine,  charged  by  one  party  with  a  shock  for  another.' 

1  Shock ! '  said  Hulda.  c  But  I  don't  think  I  have 
shocked  anybody.' 

1  That  is  the  very  thing.' 

1  But  what  dp  you  mean  by  Miss  Clyde's  blush  ?  '  said 
Hulda,  who  was  getting  excessively  mystified. 

'  Ask  her  what  she  means  by  it,'  said  Thornton.  '  Alie 
just  ring  your  bell,  will  you  ?  Tom — did  you  get  my  sword- 
belt  ? ' 

7 


146  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1  No  sir — Janscn  said  he  thought  all  the  Captains  was  a 
conspirating  against  him  ;  and  if  they  were  Generals  instead 
he  couldn't  do  no  more  than  he  could,'  he  said. 

1  And  what  did  you  say  to  that  ? ' 

*  I  told  him  he  was  a  considerable  piece  off  from  doing 
more  than  he  could,  yet,  and  I  guessed  he'd  better  send  the 
belt  home  to-night  and  no  more  about  it.' 

*  I  guess  so  too,  or  there  will  be  more.     I  shall  dine  out 
of  town  to-day,  Rosalie,  so  you  need  not  wait  for  me.' 

1  You  will  come  home  to  tea  ?  '  she  said  as  she  rose  and 
followed  him- out  of  the  room. 

Her  look  half  inclined  him  to  come  to  dinner  as  well,  but 
he  only  laughed  and  said, 

1  You  had  better  not  ask  me,  because  if  I  come  I  ntay 
bring  you  your  hands  full.' 

'  Bring  anything  in  the  world  that  will  make  home 
pleasant  to  you,'  she  said. 

1  0  it's  pleasant  enough  now — and  you  are  charming  J 
but '  variety's  the  spice  of  life,'  you  know  Alie.' 

c  A  most  unhappy  quotation  in  this  case,'  she  said  with 
a  slight  smile.  *  That  life  must  miserably  dwindle  and  dete 
riorate  which  is  fed  upon  spice  alone.  Suppose  you  try 
brown  bread  for  one  night  ?  ' 

'  You  shall  try  red  pepper  for  one  night,  to  pay  you  for 
that,'  said  Thornton.  *  Why  shouldn't  you  and  I  be  like  two 
birds  of  Paradise, — sitting  up  in  a  tree  and  eating  pimento 
berries  ? ' 

'  What  a  naturalist  you  would  make ! '  said  his  sister 
smiling.  '  You  would  condemn  the  birds  of  Paradise  to  as 
unwholesome  diet  as  you  give  yourself.' 

'  Unwholesome  according  to  you. — ' 

He  stood  by  her,  he  hardly  knew  why ;  but  perhaps  half 
in  curiosity  to  see  what  she  would  say ;  for  the  changing 


THE    ONE    TALENT.  147 

light  on  her  face  told  of  varied  thoughts  and  feelings.  But 
when  she  spoke  her  voice  trembled  a  little. 

' "  The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  as  a  man  travelling  into  a 
far  country,  who  called  his  own  servants,  and  delivered  unto 
them  his  goods.  And  unto  one  he  gave  five  talents,  to 
another  two,  and  to  another  one ;  to  every  man  according  to 
his  several  ability  ;  and  straightway  took  his  journey. 

c  "  After  a  long  time  the  Lord  of  those  servants  cometh 
and  reckoneth  with  them.  And  so  he  that  had  received  five 
talents,  came  and  brought  other  five  talents,  saying,  Lord, 
thou  deliveredst  to  me  five  talents ;  behold,  I  have  gained 
besides  them  five  talents  more.  His  Lord  said  unto  him, 
Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant;  thou  hast  been  faith 
ful  over  a  few  things,  I  will  make  thee  ruler  over  many 
things  :  enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord." 

*  Thornton — shall  we  live  that  life  together  ? — the  life  of 
heirs  of  heaven  ?  ' 

1 1  wish  you  would  let  go  of  my  hand,'  said  her  brother, 
with  a  motion  as  if  he  would  shake  it  off.  '  What  upon 
earth  is  there  in  that  immense  quotation  to  call  forth  such  a 
sorrowful  face  ? ' 

'  Because,'  said  his  sister  with  a  gush  of  tears,  as  she 
took  away  the  offending  hand ;  '  because  "  there  was  one 
servant  who  ivcnt  and  digged  in  the  earth,  and  hid  his 
lord^s  money ;  "  and  to  him  it  was  said,  "  Depart"  ' 

The  tears  were  quickly  wiped  away,  and  again  she  looked 
up  at  him. 

'  Do  you  think  it  is  very  kind  to  tajke  the  edge  off  my 
day's  pleasure  by  such  a  prelude  ? '  said  he. 

1  Yes — very  kind — to  say  what  should  do  it.' 

*  By  what  rule  of  sisterly  affection  ?  ' 

(  The  rule  in  my  own  heart,'  she  said  with  a  sigh.  (  What 
is  a  day's  pleasure  that  my  love  should  balance  it  against 


148  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

eternal  life?  There  is  time  now  to  obey — an  inch  of  time, 
— and  then  "  the  angel  shall  lift  up  his  hand  to  heaven,  and 
swear  by  Him  that  liveth  forever  and  ever,  that  there  shall 
be  time  no  longer  ! '  " 

{  And  how  do  you  know  that  I  need  time  for  anything  of 
the  sort  ?  '  said  Thornton,  when  his  silence  had  taken  to 
itself  displeasure.  '  What  right  have  you  to  suppose,  that 
because  "  after  the  most  straitest  sect  of  our  religion  I  do 
not  live  a  Pharisee,"  I  am  therefore  excluded  from  all  its 
benefits  ?  You  see  I  can  quote  Scripture  too.' 

She  did  not  raise  her  eyes,  though  the  sudden  flush  on 
her  brow  told  that  his  words  had  struck  deep.  It  passed 
away,  and  she  said — betaking  herself  to  Bible  words  as  if 
she  would  not  trust  her  own, 

'  "I. speak  as  unto  wise  men — judge  ye  what  I  say." — 
"  Every  man  that  hath  this  hope  in  him,  purifieth  himself 
even  as  He  is  pure."1  " 

And  Thornton  turned  and  left  her. 

How  he  despised  himself  for  what  he  had  said !  for  the 
implication  his  words  had  carried  !  And  against  her — upon 
whose  sincerity  he  would  have  staked  his  life. 

Christian  in  the  Slough  of  Despond  struggled  to  get 
out,  but  always  on  the  side  next  the  wicket  gate;  while 
Pliable,  having  no  desire  but  to  be  at  ease — even  in  the  City 
of  Destruction — was  well  pleased  to  set  his  face  thitherward 
to  be  clear  of  the  Slough. 

Thornton  soon  got  rid  of  his  discomfort, — only  the  re 
membered  touch  of  his  sister's  hand  was  harder  to  shake  off 
than  the  hand  itself.  Perhaps  on  the  whole  he  was  not 
sorry  for  this.  In  pursuit  of  bird's  nests  he  was  swinging 
himself  over  a  precipice,  with  but  one  visible  stay — and  that 
stay  the  hand  of  a  frail  girl.  He  knew  he  had  hold  of  her, 
or  rather  that  her  love  and  prayers  had  hold  of  him ;  and 


A   SUNBEAM.  149 

with  little  thought  of  her  life  of  watching  and  anxiety,  he 
swung  himself  off — and  rejoiced  in  his  freedom. 

He  resolved,  as  he  walked  up  Broadway,  that  he  would 
go  home  to  tea  that  night,  but  not  alone, — anything  was 
better  than  a  tete-a-tete  with  his  sister ;  and  besides,  as  he 
remarked  to  himself,  '  it  will  never  do  to  let  her  suppose 
there  are  no  men  in  the  world  but  Henry  Raynor.' 

Rosalie  sat  alone  in  her  room,  half  reading,  half  dreaming 
in  the  warm  spring  air  of  the  afternoon, — now  applying 
herself  to  her  book  and  now  parleying  with  some  old  remem 
brance  or  association ;  sometimes  raising  her  eyes  to  take  in 
most  unworldly  pleasure  from  nature's  own  messengers,  and 
then  trying  to  bring  her  mind  back  to  more  fixedness  of 
thought.  But  a  sunbeam  that  at  length  fell  on  her  book 
wound  about  her  its  silken  bands  of  spirit  influence ;  and 
laying  her  folded  hands  in  the  warm  light,  Rosalie  leaned  her 
head  back  and  let  the  sunbeam  take  her  whither  it  would. 

It  went  first  athwart  the  room  to  little  Hulda;  who 
tired  with  the  day's  play  had  curled  herself  up  on  the  bed 
in  childish  attitude  and  sleep.  Her  doll  lay  there  too,  not 
far  off;  and  a  little  silk  scarf  with  which  she  had  been  play 
ing  was  still  about  her,  and  answered  the  purposes  of  adorn 
ment  more  perfectly  than  ever.  On  all  the  sunbeam  laid 
its  light  hand  tenderly ;  and  then  it  darted  to  the  table  be 
yond,'  where  stood  the  little  sleeper's  dish  of  flowers.  The 
camellia  was  there  too,  and  one  look  Rosalie  gave  it ;  and 
then  turning  her  head  towards  the  window  and  leaning  it 
back  as  before,  her  eye  again  followed  the  sunbeam — but 
this  time  upward, — her  face  a  little  graver  perhaps — a  little 
more  removed  from  earth's  affairs,  but  no  less  quiet  than  it 
had  been  before.  And  proving  the  truth  of  George  Her 
bert's  words, 

"  Then  by  a  sunbeam  I  will  climb  to  thee  " 


150 

it  was  not  long  ere  her  mind  had  laid  fast  hold  of  the  prom 
ise,  "  Unto  you  that  believe,  shall  the  Sun  of  Righteousness 
arise,  with  /waling  in  his  beams" 

The  ray  had  done  its  work  and  gone,  and  '  the  lesser 
light '  had  held  forth  her  sceptre,  when  Martha  Jumps,  whose 
head  and  shoulders  had  been  enjoying  the  afternoon  out  of 
an  upper  window,  suddenly  rushed  into  the  room. 

'  Here's  a  whole  army  of  men  coming  ! ' 

c  Americans,  I  hope,'  said  her  mistress. 

'  La  sakes,  ma'am  !  to  be  sure  they  aint  British !  and 
when  I  said  army  I  only  meant  the  short  for  multitude. 
But  it's  such  an  unaccountable  start  for  the  Captain  to  come 
home  to  tea  and  bring  people  with  him !  ' 

*  He  so  seldom  brings  a  multitude,  Martha,  that  I  wish 
you  would  go  and  tell  Tom  to  make  sure  that  we  have  bread 
and  cake  enough  for  tea.' 

'  Let  Tom  Skiddy  alone  for  that,'  said  Martha, — '  he  has 
a  pretty  good  notion  of  his  own  how  much  bread  it  takes  for 
one  man's  supper,  and  if  he  hasn't  I  have ;  and  I'll  go  tell 
him  as  you  say ;  but  you  see  if  there  aint  a  multitude.  To 
be  sure  one  hat  does  look  like  a  dozen — viewed  out  of  a 
three-story,  but  I  wouldn't  wonder  a  bit  if  there  was  five. 
And  Miss  Rosalie,  you  mayn't  be  conscious  that  your  hair 
is  walking  down  the  back  of  your  neck.  There — they're 
knocking  at  the  door  this  blessed  minute !  ' 

But  in  spite  of  this  announcement,  Rosalie's  eyes  and 
mind  went  out  of  the  window  again  so  soon  as  she  was  alone. 
For  sorrow  had  put  her  out  of  society,  and  joy  had  not  as 
yet  offered  his  hand  to  lead  her  back ;  and  the  gentle  spirit 
which  had  once  amused  itself  with  and  among  people,  now 
found  their  gay  words  but  as  the  music  of  '  him  that  singeth 
songs  to  a  heavy  heart.'  Her  mind  found  rest  and  comfort 
in  but  one  thing ;  and  these  visiters — ( they  knew  it  not, 


LITTLE    SWEETBRIER.  151 

neither  did  they  regard  it.'  And  she  must  not  only  gc 
among  them,  but  must  go  as  a  Christian — to  take  and  main 
tain  that  stand  alone.  To  do  nothing  unbecoming  her  pro 
fession, — to  be  neither  ashamed  of  it  nor  too  forward  in 
making  it  known, — to  be  ready  always  to  speak  the  truth 
with  boldness  and  yet  with  judgment. 

For  a  moment  it  tried  her, — for  a  moment  she  shrank 
from  the  trial ;  and  then  throwing  off  care  and  weakness 
upon  the  strong  hand  that  could  provide  for  both,  she  got  up 
and  lit  a  candle  and  began  to  arrange  her  hair. 

Thornton  came  up  stairs  and  through  the  open  door  so 
quietly  while  she  was  thus  employed,  that  the  first  notice  of 
his  presence  was  its  reflection  in  the  glass  before  her. 

4  Well  little  Sweetbrier,'  he  said, — *  beautifying  yourself 
as  usual.  Are  your  pricklers  in  good  order  ? ' 

c  As  blunt  as  possible.' 

*  Defend   me  from  wounds  with  a  blunt  instrument ! ' 
said  Thornton. 

*  As  dull  as  possible  then,  if  you  like  that  better.' 

1 1  do  not  like  it  at  all  my  dear,  only  that  you  never  were 
and  never  will  be  dull.  There  is  nothing  dull  about  you,' 
said  he  passing  his  hand  over  her  hair. 

1  Whom  have  you  got  down-stairs  ?  ' 

'  Nobody.' 

'  Nobody  !  0  I  am  so  glad.  Then  Martha  was  mis 
taken.' 

'  Martha  is  as  often  mistaken  as  most  people ;  but  when 
I  said  nobody,  Alie,  I  did  not  speak  very  literally  and  not 
at  all  prospectively.  I  should  have  said  nobody  to  signify, 
at  present.  A  few  entities  to  come  and  a  few  nonentities  to 
pave  the  way.  So  the  re-arrangement  of  your  hair  will  not 
be  thrown  away.' 

c  0  it  would  not  have  been  thrown  away  upon  you,'  she 


152  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

said.     (  But  where  did  you  pick  up  such  a  peculiar  name  for 
me?' 

1  What,  Svveetbrier  ? — out  of  the  abundance  and  exuber 
ance  of  my  fancy,  my  dear.  I  never  attempt  to  argue  with 
you,  that  I  do  not  scratch  my  own  fingers  and  find  out  how 
particularly  sweet  you  are — and  the  sweeter  the  more  pro 
voked.  So  you  see — Come ! ' 


SINGULAR    PROPERTIES.  153 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

My  name  is  Mr.  Stephen,  sir,  I  am  this  gentleman's  own  cousin,  sir,  his  father  \£ 
mine  uncle,  sir :  I  am  somewhat  melancholy,  but  you  shall  commaad  me,  sir,  in 
whatever  is  incident  to  a  gentleman. — BEN  JONSON. 

'  IT  is  one  of  the  singular  properties  of  Sweetbrier,  gentle 
men,'  said  Mr.  Clyde,  as  he  presented  his  sister  to  the  three 
or  four  young  men  who  were  variously  disposed  about  the 
drawingroom  j  '  that  while  seeming  to  be  one  of  the  meekest 
and  sweetest  of  the  rose  tribe,  it  is  yet  armed  at  all  points 
and  capable  of  making  war  with  considerable  fierceness.' 

* "  'Tis  excellent  to  have  a  giant's  strength  !  " '  said  one  of 
the  guests,  who  was  given  to  quoting  Shakspeare. 

'  And  it  is  safe  enough,  lodged  in  such  delicate  hands,' 
said  another  who  came  forward  with  the  air  of  an  old  ac 
quaintance.  '  We  all  know  that  Miss  Clyde  is  never 
tyrannical,  except  in  the  way  which  is  every  lady's  pre 
rogative. 

"  The  tyranness  doth  joy  to  see 
The  huge  massacres  which  her  eyes  do  make." ' 

1  What  a  pleasant  image  ! '  said  Rosalie  smiling.  '  It 
reminds  one,  Mr.  Clinton,  of  the  Bill  of  Mortality  in  the 
Spectator ;  where  you  find  "  Will  Simple,  smitten  at  the 
Opera  by  the  glance  of  an  eye  that  was  aimed  at  one  who 
stood  by  him." ' 

7* 


154  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1 1  think  I  need  no  further  explanation  of  Sweetbrier, 
after  that,'  said  the  gentleman. 

*  Mr.  Raynor — '  said  Tom,  suddenly  throwing  open  the 
door ;  and  more  than  one  of  the  party  looked  round  with  a 
little  start,  which  subsided  as  quickly  when  they  found  them 
selves  mistaken. 

The  new  comer  was  a  most  flourishing  combination  of 
youth,  good  looks,  imperturbable  good  nature,  a  gay  dress, 
and  a  most  jaunty  manner.  As  if  the  air  were  buoyant  under 
his  feet,  so  did  he  come  forward,  and  his  face  was  radiant  as 
if  Miss  Clyde  had  been  the  sunshine  of  his  existence. 

'  My  dear  Miss  Clyde  ! — it  is  ages  ! — two  whole  ages — 
and  a  half — since  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you.  And 
how  in  the  world  I  didn't  get  here  as  soon  as  I  came  home, 
I  can't  imagine ;  but  the  first  thing  I  knew  I  found  myself 
at  Washington.' 

'  The  power  of  attraction,  Mr.  Penn,'  said  Rosalie.  '  Did 
you  suppose  that  you  of  all  people  could  resist  its  power  ?  ' 

'  I  never  did  think  so  before,'  said  Penn,  '  but  it  really 
seems  to  me  that  I  must  have  resisted  it  pretty  strongly 
when  I  went  to  Washington.  I  feel  remarkably  drawn,  to 
night.'  ' ' 

'  Drawn  and  quartered — in  a  pleasant  sense,'  said  one  of 
the  gentlemen,  as  Mr.  Penn  threw  himself  down  on  the  sofa 
by  Rosalie. 

'  Mr.  Talbot  is  apparently  one  of  the  people  who  think 
sense  is  everything,'  said  Mr.  Clinton. 

c  Ah  that's  a  mistake,'  said  Penn.  ;  But  my  dear  Miss 
Clyde,  is  there  anything  remarkable  about  your  appear 
ance  to-night  ? ' 

'  I  hope  not,'  said  Rosalie,  while  the  others  laughed  and 
Mr.  Clinton  remarked, 

1  You  ought  to  be  able  to  answer  that  yourself,  Penn.' 


THE    POWER    OF   ATTRACTION.  155 

<  Couldn't  trust  myself,  that's  all,'  replied  Mr.  Perm,  'for 
in  the  present  state  ef  my  eyesight  it  really  strikes  me  with 
astonishment  how  anybody  could  go  to  Europe.  And  do 
you  know  Miss  Clyde,  that  do  all  I  would  I  couldn't  make 
Harry  come  with  me  to-night  ?  Positively  couldn't — and 
he  went  somewhere  else.' 

i  Probably  for  the  same  reason  that  you  went  to  Wash 
ington,'  said  Thornton. 

'  No,  it  couldn't  have  been  that,'  said  Penn,  *  because  he 
has  seen  Miss  Clyde  since  he  came  home,  which  I  had  not. 
But  I  never  knew  him  resist  the  power  of  attraction  before.' 

'  You  seem  to  be  fairly  entangled,  Penn,'  said  Mr. 
Clinton. 

'  Certainly,'  said  Penn, — c  revolving.  Miss  Clyde,  it 
confuses  my  ideas  in  an  extraordinary  manner  to  see  you 
again.  And  it's  only  by  the  merest  chance  in  the  world 
that  I  am  here  to-night,  myself.' 

'  What  unhappy  corner  of  the  world  has  just  missed  the 
pleasure  of  your  company  ?  '  said  Mr.  Clinton. 

1  You  may  well  call  it  an  unhappy  corner,'  said  Penn, 
(  for  if  a  man  is  bound  to  be  wretched  anywhere,  I  suppose 
it  is  in  a  prison  ship  in  a  hot  climate.  I  escaped  pretty  well 
though.' 

'  From  the  wretchedness  or  the  ship  ?  '  said  Rosalie. 

'  Both,  Miss  Clyde.  I  assure  you.     I'll  tell  you  about  it.' 

'  What  nonsense  you  do  talk,  Penn,'  said  Thornton. 
•  You  came  home  only  three  months  ago  from  Europe.' 

1  Certainly,'  said  Penn,  '  but  that's  quite  long  enough  to 
stay  in  some  places.  Have  you  any  idea  where  I  have  been 
since  then  ? ' 

c  Not  much,'  said  Thornton, — {  at  Washington  and  here 
I  suppose.' 

(  Tout  au  contraire,'  replied  Mr.  Penn.  '  I  have  been  at 
the  West  Indies  and  a  prisoner.' 


156  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

*  Were   you  one   of  the  men  who  ran  away  with  the 
Bermuda  ?  '  said  Rosalie. 

'  My  dear  Miss  Clyde,  with  your  usual  acuteness  you 
have  stated  the  case  precisely.  In  fact  I  may  say  I  was 
the  man,  the  rest  being  highly  gifted  with  timidity.  But  I 
thought  a  little  interlude  of  running  away  would  be  refresh 
ing,  even  if  we  were  taken  again,  and  was  by  no  means  of 
the  opinion  that  H.B.M.'s  cruisers  had  a  natural  right  to 
everything  they  laid  hands  on.  Holla — who  comes  here  ? ' 

' '  Enter  a  fairy  at  one  door,' '  said  the  Shakspearian. 

And  the  door  softly  opened  and  Hulda  came  in.  Just 
enough  awake  to  get  off  the  bed  and  brush  her  hair,  she  had 
found  her  way  down  stairs,  and  now  stood  by  the  door  with 
her  ideas  in  a  most  puzzled  state. 

'  What  do  you  want,  Hulda  ?  '  said  her  brother. 

'  I  want — Rosalie,'  said  the  child  abstractedly,  and  tak 
ing  another  survey  of  the  room. 

'  The  Queen,  my  dear,'  said  Penn  Raynor  walking  up  to 
her,  '  is  at  present  sitting  in  state  upon  the  sofa.  Shall  I 
have  the  honour  of  conducting  you  to  her  ?  And  by  what 
title  will  you  be  made  known  ?  Is  this  the  little  prime 
minister  ? ' 

1  What  sir  ? '  said  Hulda  raising  her  childish  eyes  to  his 
face,  while  everybody  laughed. 

'  You  are  the  Flying  Squirrel,  my  dear,  and  I  am  his 
majesty's  sloop  of  war  Wild  Cat,'  said  Penn,  as  he  gave  her 
one  jump  to  his  shojilder  ;  and  then  carrying  her  to  the  sofa 
permitted  her  to  kneel  in  his  lap.  '  Now  who  have  I  got  for 
a  prisoner  ? ' 

'  You  have  got  me,'  said  Hulda. 

'  And  it  strikes  me  that  I  have  heard  of  you  before,'  said 
Perm.  '  Isn't  my  cousin  a  great  friend  of  yours  ?  ' 

*  I  don't  know,  sir,'  said  Hulda. 


HE  ISN'T  YOUR  COUSIN.  157 

(  Why  yes  you  do,'  said  Perm  giving  her  a  little  shake. 
'  You  spent  the  day  with  him  yesterday,  and  he  was  off  with 
you  somewhere  when  I  got  home.' 

'  But  I  was  at  Mr.  Raynor's  yesterday,'  said  Hulda,  '  and 
he  isn't  your  cousin.' 

:  He  is  my  cousin.' 

'  Is  he  ?  '  said  Hulda,  leaning  back  and  taking  a  complete 
survey  of  the  questioner.  (  He  don't  look  a  Ibit  like  you.  I 
love  Mr.  Raynor  very  much.' 

'  Well  so  do  I,'  said  Penn,  who  was  highly  delighted 
with  the  unconscious  emphasis  Hulda  had  bestowed  upon  her 
friend's  name. 

'  But  I  thought  you  were  going  to  tell  us  of  your  great 
adventures,'  said  Thornton  impatiently, — c  and  you  sit  there 
talking  to  that  child  !  ' 

1 1  perceive  that  you  are  still  subject  to  your  old  period 
ical  fits  of  insanity,  Mr.  Clyde,'  said  Penn.  l  When  you 
have  sojourned  for  a  short  lifetime  among  the  Quakers,  you 
will  learn  that  impatience  is  one  of  the  useless  luxuries  of 

life.  Though  indeed  if  you  had  been  in  our  prison-ship 

But  I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  it.  You  see  my  dear 
Miss  Clyde,  when  I  got  to  Washington  I  fell  in  with  some 
friends — not  of  the  Society,  you  may  be  sure — that  were 
bound  to  try  their  hand  at  privateering.  Of  course  they 
invited  me  to  go,  and  of  course  I  went.' 

*  To  benefit  the  country  or  yourself? '  said  Thornton. 

'  Whichever  might  be,'  said  Penn,  l  and  I  think  in  the 
long  run  we  came  out  about  equal.  However,  when  we 
first  started  from  Baltimore  the  thing  paid  pretty  well.  We 
cruised  about,  took  a  variety  »f  vessels  smaller  than  our 
selves,  and  had  more  prisoners  than  we  knew  what  to  do 
with  :  which  was  all  very  pleasant,  except  that  the  prisoners 
had  as  good  appetites  as  our  own.' 


158  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1  Remarkably  inconsiderate  of  them,'  said  Mr.  Clinton. 

(  Yes,  it  was,'  said  Penn,  '  when  you  take  into  the  ac 
count  that  the  Flying  Squirrel's  capacity  for  provisions  was 
by  no  means  unlimited.  It  came  to  this  point  at  last — 
whether  we  should  all  starve  together  as  human  beings,  or 
the  upperhand  live  and  the  rest  go  overboard.' 

'  Difficult  point  to  round,  that,'  said  Thornton. 

'  It  did  look  so  in  the  distance,'  said  Mr.  Penn  ;  '  but 
after  all  it's  astonishing  how  many  points  the  tide  of  circum 
stance  carries  one  round — as  our  Captain  poetically  ex 
pressed  it.  When  we  did  reach  the  point  there  was  a  ship 
in  the  offing — an  Englishman  she  looked  to  be  and  was.' 

'  And  she  carried  you  round  the  point  ?  '  said  Rosalie. 

'  Precisely,  Miss  Clyde — round  more  than  one.  She  was 
a  sloop  of  war — or  a  frigate — I  don't  know  which, — only  I 
know  that  she  carried  four  times  as  many  guns  as  we  did. 
The  game  was  up,  of  course,  but  we  chose  to  let  the  enemy 
cry  checkmate,  and  so  ran — but  what  could  the  Squirrel  do 
so  far  from  land  ?  for  the  storms  had  driven  us  out  so  far 
that  we  were  near  coming  up  on  the  other  side.  I  don't 
know  to  this  day  whether  our  guns  were  heard  in  England 
or  America.  But  we  ran  as  I  said — skimmed  over  the 
water  like  the  cannon  ball  the  Wild  Cat  sent  after  us.' 

1  Did  it  strike  ? '  said  Rosalie. 

'  Yes,  Miss  Clyde — it  struck  us — that  if  she  was  going 
to  spit  fire  at  that  rate  we  had  better  stop, — just  to  save  her 
from  spontaneous  combustion.  So  we  did  stop,  and  gave 
her  as  good  as  she  sent.' 

'  But  not  quite  so  suggestive.' 

'  Not  quite,'  said  Penn, — '  our  arguments  were  not  quite 
so  weighty.  And  you  see  the  Wild  Cat  had  set  her  mouth 
for  our  poor  Squirrel, — and  what  could  four  guns  do  against 
eighteen,  after  all  ?  ' 


PRISON    SHIPS.  159 

'  So  the  long  and  snort  of  it  was,  that  you  had  to  strike 
your  colours,'  said  Thornton. 

'  Even  so,'  said  Penn, — '  I  had  that  pleasure  myself. 

Struck  'em  so  they  fell  overboard  too gave  the  Eagle 

my  own  choice, — death  instead  of  dishonour.  But  we  were 
all  sent  to  Kingston  and  cooped  up  on  board  the  Groree. 
Such  a  place  ! — such  bread  and  such  rats  ! ' 

c  You  wished  for  the  Wild  Cat  again,  didn't  you  Penn  ?' 
said  Thornton  laughing. 

<  I  nearly  turned  one  myself,'  said  Penn.  '  For  if  the 
bread  was  uneatable,  that  didn't  make  it  pleasant  to  have 
rats  and  cockroaches  running  over  you  all  night  to  get  at  it. 
I  tell  you  what,  I  came  near  hating  my  ancestors  for  having 
come  from  England.' 

'  If  they  had  not  come  you  would  have  been  an  English 
man  yourself,'  said  Rosalie  smiling. 

'  I  don't  know  about  that,'  said  Mr.  Penn ;  ( but  if  I  were 
a  Turk  I'd  have  respectable  prison  ships.  Why  even  the 
Hindoos  put  nobody  but  beggars  in  the  animal  asylums — 
and  pay  them  ! ' 

'  I  think  you  were  paid  for  privateering,'  said  Thornton. 

'  We  did  not  view  it  in  that  light,'  said  Penn.  '  In  fact 
all  the  light  we  had  was  reflected  into  a  focus  upon  our 
plan  of  escape.  The  States  or  the  bottom  of  the  sea, — we 
soon  made  up  our  minds  to  have  one  or  t'other.  It's  a 
pretty  enough  place  there,  too,'  said  Mr.  Penn,  who  was 
warming  to  his  subject ;  '  and  bread  fruits  and  cocoanuts 
look  very  nice,  waving  about  in  the  wind ;  but  they  don't 
make  your  sour  brown  bread  any  sweeter.  I  think  to  peo 
ple  broiling  on  the  Goree's  deck,  or  smothering  under  her 
hatches,  it  was  rather  tantalizing  to  think  of  green  trees 
anywhere.  But  it  strengthened  our  plans.' 

'  What  did  you  have  to  do  there  ?  '  said  Thornton, 
'  Anything  ? ' 


1GO 

'  Not  much,'  said  Penn, — c  what  we  had  was  done,  I  do 
assure  you.  Wishing  and  grumbling  was  pretty  much  the 
whole  of  it — and  then  planning.  Those  of  us  that  were 
given  to  swearing  kept  themselves  in  good  practice  ;  but  as 
I  had  been  brought  up  by  the  Quakers  I  hadn^t  even  that 
resource.  I  remember  one  night  I  was  too  melancholy  to 
sleep — or  too  hot — I  forget  which ;  and  just  as  early  as  the 
prisoners  were  allowed  to  go  on  deck,  up  I  went.' 

1  Didn't  throw  yourself  overboard,  did  you  ? '  said 
Thornton.  '  That  would  have  answered  for  either  heat  or 
melancholy.' 

'  Yes,  but  it  wouldn't  have  answered  for  me,  though,' 
said  Penn,  '  so  I  only  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  ship  and 
wished  myself  a  fish ;  for  the  water  was  still  enough  to  give 
one  the  fidgets.  Presently  the  rest  began  to  gather  about 
me,  and  we  exchanged  a  few  looks  and  words  as  we  got  a 
chance,  in  a  kind  of  desperate  way  that  said  we  wouldn't 
wait  much  longer.  Which  sentiment  we  all  endorsed  by 
flinging  our  breakfast  overboard.  '  What's  that  for  ?  '  said 
the  boatswain.  But  we  gave  him  no  reply  ;  and  after  a  few 
not  very  sweet  words  he  ordered  eleven  of  the  prisoners  into 
the  launch  to  go  for  water.' 

'  And  you  refused  to  go  ?  '  said  Thornton. 

'  No  we  didn't — we  went,  with  only  a  look  at  each  other; 
and  the  boatswain  and  two  soldiers  went  along  for  company. 
The  bay  was  quite  spotted  with  vessels  that  morning,  but 
all  sleepy,  apparently,  with  the  warm  day ;  there  was  no 
body  astir.  The  frigates  shewed  their  teeth  and  that  was 
all ;  and  the  smaller  vessels  had  both  crew  and  cargo 
stowed  away  out  of  sight.  Only  one,  the  Bermuda,  had  her 
deck  lumbered  with  buoys  which  she  was  to  take  out  and 
lay  in  the  channel.  But  we  rowed  on  past  them  all  to  the 
shore,  and  filled  our  six  water  casks  in  less  time  than  they 
ever  were  filled  before.' 


AN   ESCAPE.  161 

{ And  upset  them  coming  back,'  said  Mr.  Clinton. 

'  You  would  have  been  a  help  if  you  had  been  there, 
said  Penn.  t  No — we  upset  nothing  but  the  calculations  of 
the  boatswain ;  for  the  minute  we  were  far  enough  from 
shore  I  gave  the  signal  that  we  had  always  agreed  upon. 
'  Squirrel ! '  I  said — and  we  pounced  upon  both  soldiers  and 
boatswain  and  disarmed  them  in  a  trice.  Then  we  rowed 
quietly  along  to  the  Bermuda. 

'  Now  you  see,  Miss  Clyde,  we  had  two  fortsr  on  our 
right  hand  and  the  Bermuda  on  our  left ;  and  beyond  the 
Bermuda  lay  the  sloop  of  war  Nimrod,  and  the  frigates 
Chaser  and  .Charlemagne,  but  all  as  I  said  asleep.  So 
when  we  reached  the  Bermuda  we  boarded  her  at  once,  and 
put  her  five  men  under  hatches  ;  and  in  less  time  than  you 
can  think  the  cables  were  cut  and  we  pushing  out,' 

*  And  after  that  the  time  seemed  long.' 

'  Indeed  yes,'  said  Penn.  •  I  never  saw  a  thing  creep  so 
in  my  life  as  she  did  for  a  few  minutes.  When  we  had 
made  av  little  headway  we  set  the  launch  adrift,  with  the 
boatswain  and  soldiers  and  two  of  our  party  that  didn't 
bring  their  courage  along,  and  then  overhauled  the  schooner 
to  see  what  we  had  to  work  with.  We  knew  nothing  about 
the  channel,  and  there  was  no  chart  on  board  ;  but  we  found  a 
compass,  forty  gallons  of  water,  and  provisions  enough  to 
keep  us  alive  for  ten  days.' 

'  How  about  the  rats  ? '  said  Thornton. 

1  Never  saw  one,  all  the  time  we  were  in  the  Bermuda — • 
they  were  sent  to  the  prison  ships.  Well,  it  was  eleven 
o'clock  by  the  time  we  were  fairly  off— sails  set  and  arrange 
ments  made;  and  we  threw  over  all  the  buoys  but  one, 
keeping  that  till  we  knew  the  trim  of  the  vessel.  I  can't 
tell  you  how  pleasant  it  was.  The  wind  was  a  true  Ameri 
can,  and  favoured  us  all  it  could ;  and  we  sat  on  deck  and 


162  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

eat  some  bread  that  had  not  been  once  eaten  already,  with 
great  satisfaction.  I  know  I  looked  at  my  watch,  and  it 
was  just  one  o'clock  ;  but  as  I  was  replacing  it  in  a  leisurely 
kind  of  way,  that  smacked  of  enjoyment,  the  wind  came 
sweeping  along  the  deck  and  brought  us  the  booming  of  two 
or  three  alarm  guns.' 

c  And  how  did  you  feel  then  ?  '  said  Rosalie  as  Mr.  Penn 
paused. 

'  Every  man  was  on  his  feet,  this  way,'  said  Penn,  put 
ting  down  Hulda  and  springing  up ;  '  but  nobody  spoke. 
And  so  we  stood  for  one  hour  till  the  Nimrod  came  in  sight. 
We  had  nothing  but  a  foresail,  mainsail,  and  jib,  but  we 
made  them  work  as  hard  as  they  could  :  still  at  sundown 
the  vessel  was  nearer  and  seemed  to  be  looming  up  every 
minute.  As  soon  as  it  was  dark  we  took  a  short  tack  and 
sailed  off  in  a  different  direction,  but  by  eight  o'clock  there 
were  her  lights  again  shining  out  as  if  to  look  after  us  ;  and 
when  the  moon  was  up  in  the  early  morning,  the  Nimrod  or 
something  else  was  after  us  as  hard  as  ever.  "VVe  stood  and 
watched  for  a  while  as  the  day  came  on — and  the  Nimrod 
too,  for  that  matter ;  and  then  a  bright  thought  came  into 
my  head.  *  Rutgers,'  said  I — (you  know  him  Thornton, 
he's  one  of  your  cronies) ;  c  we  may  just  as  well  capsize  our 
selves  here  as  to  be  carried  back  to  Kingston.  I  vote  we 
throw  over  this  other  buoy.'  Which  we  did  at  once ;  and 
only  think,  Miss  Clyde,'  said  Penn  planting  himself  before 
her,  '  it  trimmed  the  schooner  precisely ;  and  by  eight 
o'clock  we  had  sunk  the  Nimrod,  and  she  had  her  hunting 
ground  all  to  herself ! ' 

*  That  was  brave,'  said  Rosalie.  '  And  what  a  pleasant 
breakfast  you  must  have  had.' 

'  Indeed  we  did,'  said  Penn.  <  But  that  was  not  all.  We 
were  chased  several  times  more  coining  home,  and  got  away 


FREAKS.  163 

well  enough  till  we  neared  Cape  May ;  and  there  was  a  74 
in  the  channel,  two  other  craft  trying  to  cut  us  off  from  the 
shore,  and  a  pilot  boat  full  of  armed  Englishmen  in  chase.' 
'  Then  you  felt  like  giving  up  the  ship  again,'  said  Mr. 
Clinton. 

'  We  did  give  it  up — it  was  all  we  could  do,'  said  Penn. 
'  We  just  steered  for  land,  and  by  the  time  the  boat  was 
within  pistol  shot,  we  beached  our  vessel  on  the  Cape  and 
jumped  ashore.  Saved  ourselves  and  lost  the  Bermuda, — 
which  was  a  pity,  after  such  a  week's  voyage  in  her.' 

'  Lost  your  prisoners  too,'  said  Thornton. 

'  Yes,  but  that  didn't  matter.  They  were  not  worth 
much.  We  came  pretty  near  being  heroes,  though, — I  tell 
you  what,  they  made  fuss  enough  for  us  in  Philadelphia. 
We  should  have  been  futed  and  feasted  till  this  time,  if  we 
could  have  stayed  and  nobody  else  had  come  along.' 

'  Will  you  come  so  far  as  the  next  room  and  take  a  cup 
of  coffee,  Mr.  Penn  ?  '  said  Rosalie  when  the  little  buzz  of 
comment  and  remark  had  died  away. 

1  You  had  better,'  said  Thornton,  '  for  you  will  get 
nothing  stronger  in  this  house  to-night,  I  warn  you.' 

'What  new  freak  have  you  taken  up,  Thornton  ?'  said 
one  of  the  guests  with  a  laugh. 

'  No  freak  of  mine,'  he  answered  emphatically.  '  What 
do  you  think  was  the  last  thing  on  which  my  Lady  Sweet- 
brier  laid  her  ban  ?  ' 

4  Freaks  ?  '  suggested  Penn. 

'  No  truly,'  said  Thornton,  '  this  being  one.  She  has 
lately  found  out  by  great  study  and  research,  that  wine  was 
not  meant  to  make  glad  the  heart  of  man  ' 

'  Nor  oil  to  make  his  face  to  shine,'  said  Penn. 

— *  And  therefore  that  men  should  not  drink  it,'  said 
Thornton  with  a  slight  frown ;  '  and  shall  not,  in  her 
presence.' 


164  MY 

*  It  is  no  new  freak,  at  least,'  said  his  sister  in  a  rather 
low  tone,  while  everybody  else  stood  silent. 

'  No,  that  it  is  not,'  said  Penn  Raynor;  '  for  I  do  assure 
you  that  when  I  went  to  Europe  she  would  honour  my 
departure  with  no  better  libation  than  the  pump  could 
furnish.' 

'  Threw  cold  water  on  the  whole  proceeding,'  said  Mr. 
Clinton. 

*  Yes  she  did,'  replied  Penn, — '  just  as  if  I  shouldn't  see 
enough  on  the  way  over. ' 

'  Miss  Clyde  has  probably  studied  those  fine  lines  in 
Milton  about  singularity,'  said  one  of  the  young  men  who 
had  spoken  but  seldom.  '  Familiar  with  them,  are  you  not, 
Miss  Clyde?1 

( I  hardly  dare  say  I  am  familiar  with  all  the  fine  lines 
in  Milton,'  she  answered  quietly,  though  something  in  the 
speaker's  tone  gave  her  cheeks  a  deep  tinge.  And  Thorn 
ton's  caught  it. 

'  I  remember  them,'  he  said,  { if  she  does  not — and  she 
might  have  sat  for  the  picture. 

"  Against  allurement,  custom,  and  a  world 
Offended ;  fearless  of  reproach  and  scorn, 
Or  violence." 

'  That  is  my  sister  precisely,  Mr.  Talbot !  Now  Alie 
we  are  ready  for  your  coffee — or  for  anything  else  you 
choose  to  give  us.' 

It  was  spoken  with  flashing  eyes  ;  and  was  heard  by 
Rosalie  with  fluttering  lip  and  heart,  and  in  deep  silence  by 
the  rest. 

{  Whatever  Hebe  pours  out  is  bound  to  be  nectar,'  said 
Penn  Raynor  with  a  gay  laugh.  '  My  dear  Miss  Clyde, 
if  you  will  take  my  arm  with  half  the  pleasure  with  which  I 


NECTAR.  165 

shall  take  your  coffee,  my  share  in  the  felicity  of  the  evening 
will  be  filled  up.' 

Rosalie's  coffee  came  as  near  being  nectar  that  night  as 
human  coffee  could ;  and  so  far  as  she  was  better  worth 
looking  at  than  the  Queen  of  Spades — so  far  as  her  voice 
and  words  were  truer  and  purer  than  any  toast  that  would 
have  been  honoured  with  three  times  three — so  far  Thorn 
ton  could  not  help  being  satisfied.  And  what  with  coffee 
and  music,  Mr.  Penn's  sallies  and  Rosalie's  skill,  the  evening 
was  lively  enough,  to  satisfy  anybody. 


166  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm, 

With  his  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
And  watched  how  the  veering  flaw  did  blow 

The  smoke,  now  west,  now  south. — LONGFELLOW. 

THE  Fourth  of  July  fell  on  Sunday,  and  of  course  all  celebra 
tion  thereof  was  deferred  until  the  next  day. 

But  when  Monday  morning  had  but  faintly  broken 
through  the  gloom  of  Sunday  night,  the  still  air  was  en 
livened  with  a  roar  of  guns  from  the  Battery ;  and  again 
from  the  Hook,  and  then  from.  Staten  Island,  and  then  from 
every  other  point  and  place  that  was  happy  enough  to  have 
a  gun.  And  the  hills  sent  back  a  roar  as  their  part  of  the 
celebration, — and  if  the  younger  members  of  society  were 
not  heard  above  all,  it  certainly  was  not  their  fault.  And 
from  every  hotel  and  public  building,  from  every  fort,  and 
from  every  mast  that  rose  into  the  clear  air  about  the  har 
bour,  there  floated  a  host  of  flags,  streamers,  pendants  and 
pennons,  that  for  variety  of  colour  outshone  the  very  tints  of 
the  morning. 

While  the  citizens  were  thus  variously  engaged  with 
gunpowder  and  bunting — fire  crackers  or  cannon,  hoisting 
flags  or  pocket-handkerchiefs,  according  to  their  age  and 
ability, — while  independence  was  noisily  declaring  itself  on 
shore,  a  British  flotilla  lay  off  the  Hook,  and  New  York 
harboifr  was  blockaded. 


THE   YANKEE.  167 

As  the  morning  came  on,  a  little  fishing  smack  lying  in 
Mosquito  Cove  began  to  cast  off  her  ropes  and  unfurl  her 
sail,  and  then  quietly  stood  out  from  the  Cove  into  the  open 
water.  For  figurehead,  the  little  vessel  carried  an  image 
which  the  skill  of  the  carver  had  quite  failed  to  render  as 
clear  as  he  meant  it  to  be.  A  pipe  was  the  most  self-evident 
thing  about  it  ;  but  except  that  the  figure  was  tall  and  gaunt 
instead  of  short  and  thick,  it  might  as  well  have  graced  the 
Flving  Dutchman  as  any  other  craft  that  sailed.  The  stern 
of  the  vessel,  however,  made  all  plain  ;  for  there  was  inscrib 
ed  in  jaunty  black  characters, 


And  if  the  craft  was  Yankee,  so  seemingly  were  her 
crew.  Three  men  in  buff  caps  and  fishing  dress  were  on 
her  deck,  —  one  attending  strictly  to  the  helm,  though  look 
ing  as  if  he  attended  to  nothing  ;  another  lounging  off  on  the 
bowsprit,  by  way  of  keeping  a  sharp  look-out  ;  and  the  third 
taking  many  an  elaborate  measurement  of  the  deck,  to  the 
tune  and  time  of  first  Washington's  March  and  then  a  jig. 

Midway  on  the  deck  of  the  little  vessel  were  three  remark 
able  passengers  —  a  calf,  a  sheep,  and  a  goose.  The  two 
quadrupeds  were  tied  vis-a-vis,  with  however  no  check  upon 
their  feet  or  their  vocal  powers  ;  while  the  goose,  detained 
within  a  large  and  very  open  coop,  thrust  her  head  and  neck 
through  the  bars  and  screamed  and  hissed  incessantly,  —  -most 
of  all  when  the  unoccupied  one  of  the  crew  paused  in  his 
Walk  to  enjoin  silence. 

'  I  say  Mr.  Percival  !  '  said  this  man  approaching  the 
helmsman  with  an  air  of  great  disgust,  c  what  an  unendur 
able  noise  those  creatures  make  !  If  you  could  have  got 
some  sort  of  live  stock  now  that  don't  feel  obliged  to  say  all 


168  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

they  have  on  their  minds  at  once — that  had  grown  up  in  a 
Quaker  barnyard,  suppose — wouldn't  it  have  served  your 
turn  just  as  well  ?  ' 

'  Quaker  fetching  up  don't  change  all  natures,'  said  the 
helmsman,  with  one  of  those  quick  looks  which  shewed  him 
wide  awake  in  the  midst  of  his  apparent  sluggishness. 

'No,  that's    a  fact,'  said  the  other  man  with   a  laugh. 

*  Though  if  you  mean  that  all  the  unchanged  ones  are  akin 
to  these  respectable  animals,  my  opinion  is  about  as  far  from 
yours  as  the  Eagle  down  yonder  is  from  the  74.' 

The  helmsman  sent  another  quick  glance  down  the  bay, 
and  then  slowly  moving  the  tiller  so  as  to  turn  the  vessel  a 
little  further  off  shore,  he  answered, 

4  We  don't  fly  so  far  apart  as  that,  Mr.  Penn,  not  by  two 
or  three  points.  But  you  spoke  of  silence.' 

'  There's  a  delicate  hint,'  said  the  other,  laughing  again 
and  pushing  back  his  buff  cap — to  the  disclosure  of  more 
ambrosially  curled  locks  than  fishermen  are  wont  to  wear. 

*  Never  mind,  Mr.  Percival — the  cackle  of  your  live  stock 
will  either  drown  my  voice  or  blend.     When  shall  we  be  at 
the  banks  ? ' 

*  Late  enough  for  a  hot  dinner  first,'  said  Mr.  Percival. 
'  Hot  ?  '  said  Penn. 
'  Aye,'  said  the  skipper. 

'  Curious  what  an  amount  of  cold  materials  appear  at 
such  dinners,'  said  Mr.  Penn.  c  However — 

"  How  sleep  the  brave  who  sink  to  rest" — 

» 

and  I  can  swim  like  a  cat  too, — I  have  none  of  Falstaffs 
alacrity  in  sinking.'  And  he  began  his  whistle  and  his 
walk  again. 

The  sun  was  rising  higher  and  higher,  nor  did  the  flood 
tide  itself  make  swifter  progress  than  the  flood  of  sunlight. 


THE    EAGLE.  169 

Over  the  city  with  its  tall  spires  and  smoking  chimneys, — 
over  the  green  shores  of  Staten  Island  and  New  Jersey, — 
most  of  all  upon  the  waters  of  the  bay,  did  the  sunlight 
come  down  and  call  forth  beauty.  The  sails  of  the  different 
vessels  shone  white  and  glistering,  and  the  blue  water  sparkled 
and  rippled  and  curled  as  if  it  were  disporting  itself.  By 
means  of  a  fresh  north  wind  the  little  fishing  smack  went 
steadily  on  against  the  tide — courtesying  along,  and  now 
and  then  dipping  her  bow  that  some  fair  wave  might  break 
over  it.  If  the  lookout  had  been  a  pilot  he  would  but  have 
said  to  the  helmsman  '  Thus  ! ' — so  unerring  a  course  did  the 
Yankee's  wooden  pipe  point  out. 

Sailing  quietly  along  '  thus,'  the  little  smack  had  come 
within  full  sight  of  a  British  sloop,  the  Eagle,  then  cruising 
about  the  hook  in  the  capacity  of  tender  to  the  Poictiers — 
a  74  gun  ship  and  one  of  the  blockading  vessels.  And  as 
the  Eagle's  lookout  did  not  belie  her  name,  she  was  not  long 
in  discovering  the  little  Yankee,  and  that  her  head  was  to 
wards  the  fishing  banks. 

Swift  sail  made  the  Eagle ;  but  as  her  white  canvass 
came  flying  towards  the  Yankee,  that  imperturbable  craft 
neither  fled  nor  fainted — neither  ran  in  shore  nor  towards 
Lome,  but  went  courtesying  on  as  before,  towards  the 
"banks. 

'  The  fish  bite  well  to-day,'  remarked  the  skipper,  when 
one  of  his  keen  looks  had  taken  the  latest  news  from  the 
Eagle. 

'  Sizeable  fish,  too,'  remarked  Mr.  Penn,  who  was  now 
rocking  lazily  against  the  mast.  '  Easy  to  catch  and  easy 
to  land — hey,  Mr.  Percival  ?  ' 

1  Thereafter  as  may  be,'  replied  the  skipper.     '  But  tha 
race  is  not  always  to  the  swift. ' 
8 


170  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

c  On  the  wing,  I  declare  she  is,'  said  Mr.  Penn  after 
another  pause.  '  Swoops — don't  she  ! ' 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  Eagle  rounded  to  and  hailed,  her 
brass  howitzer  glimmering  in  the  sun. 

1  Smack  Yankee,  of  New  York,'  returned  the  skipper. 

{  Live  stock  aboard  ?  ' 

'  Aye — '  said  the  skipper,  his  words  strongly  borne  out 
by  Mr.  -Penn,  who  by  a  timely  insinuation  had  greatly  in 
creased  the  wrath  of  the  goose. 

1  What  else  ?  ' 

'Nothing.' 

'  All  geese  aboard  ?  '  was  the  next  question,  followed  by 
a  peal  of  laughter. 

'  Birds  of  a  feather,'  replied  Mr.  Percival  with  an  un 
moved  face. 

'  Sail  away  then,'  returned  the  man  in  the  Eagle — *  make 
a  straight  line  for  the  Commodore,  five  miles  down.' 

'Aye,  aye,  sir,'  said  the  skipper, putting  up*the  helm  as 
if  to  obey.  This  brought  the  smack  alongside  the  Eagle,  and 
not  more  than  three  yards  off;  but  the  next  word  came 
like  a  cannon-shot  from  the  little  vessel. 
.  l  Lawrence  ! ' — shouted  Mr.  Percival ;  in  a  moment  the 
Yankee's  deck  was  covered  with  armed  men.  Pouring  forth 
from  the  cabin  and  fore  peak  where  they  had  been  concealed, 
the  little  band,  some  thirty  in  number,  saluted  the  Eagle 
with  a  fierce  volley  from  their  muskets,  before  which  her 
startled  crew  sank  back  "into  the  hold  without  even  at 
tempting  to  discharge  their  howitzer.  The  deck  was  clear. 

*  Cease  firing !  '  called  out  Mr.  Percival.  And  with  that 
a  man  cautiously  emerging  from  the  hold  came  forth  and 
struck  the  Eagle's  colours.  In  another  minute  the  stars  and 
stripes  stretched  off  upon  the  breeze,  and  Mr.  Percival  and 
Penn  Baynor  were  on  the  deck. 


ON    DECK    AND    BELOW.  171 

It  was  no  joyous  thing  to  take  possession  of.  The 
master's  mate  of  the  Poictiers  lay  there  dead,  and  near  him 
a  midshipman  mortally  wounded ;  and  «f  two  marines  that 
had  fallen  one  was  also  dead.  Nine  other  seamen  and 
marines  were  in  the  hold.  Briefly  and  gravely  Mr.  Percival 
made  known  his  orders. 

The  Eagle  changed  her  course  again  and  stood  for 
Sandy  Hook.  There  the  body  of  the  mate  was  sent  ashore 
and  buried  with  military  honours.  The  wounded  men  were 
carefully  attended  to  ;  the  prisoners  secured  :  and  the  Eagle 
set  sail  for  New  York. 

1  I  call  this  a  decided  improvement  on  the  Yankee,'  said 
Penn  Raynor,  as  he  stood  by  sailing-master  Percival  who 
had  taken  his  old  place  at  the  helm.  *  We  shall  make 
quicker  time  to  New  York  too,  by  something.' 

1  At  the  Battery  before  sundown,'  was  the  reply. 

*  But  why  the  mischief,  Mr.  Percival,  don't  you  use  that 
howitzer  for  a  speaking  trumpet,  and  talk  a  little?  The 
quiet  of  your  vessel  has  been  unheard  of,  all  day.  Talk  of 
{  darkness  visible  ! ' — Why  don't  you  ?  ' 

The^skipper's  look  for  a  moment  betokened  a  stern  reply, 
but  he  only  said, 

'  Your  cousin  would  not  have  asked  that  question, 
Mr.  Penn.' 

'  Very  likely,'  said  Penn  ;  '  and  the  same  might  be  said  of 
all  the  questions  I  ever  did  ask,  probably,  but  I  like  to  have 
'em  answered  nevertheless.' 

'  Go  down  in  the  cabin  then,'  said  the  sailing  master 
briefly. 

8  What's  in  the  cabin  ?  '  said  Penn.  (  "  Silence  more  pro 
found  ?  "  I  suppose  if  I  went  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  it 
might  be  deeper  yet.' 

Again  Mr.  Percival  looked  at  him,  and  then  forward  to 


172  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

where  the  sloop's  prow  was  cleaving  the  blue  water;  and 
half  musingly  half  in  answer,  he  said, 

'  I  cannot  fire  rejoicings  over  my  prisoners'  heads,  Mr. 
Penn,  nor  one  gun  to  reach  a  vessel  that  is  bound  on  her 
last  voyage.' 

'  The  prisoners'  heads  are  intelligible,'  said  Penn, 
1  though  I  should  think  they  might  come  on  deck ;  but  as 
for  your  poetical  effusion,  it  might  go  on  the  shelf  with  all 
the  Greek  books  I  used  at  College.  I  say  why  not  fire  half 
a  dozen  shots  ?  ' 

'  And  I  tell  you,'  said  the  master,  speaking  with  an  em 
phasis  that  brought  his  voice  down  below  its  usual  pitch, 
*  that  there  is  one  below  who  is  nigh  done  with  the  world 
for  ever, — do  you  want  to  roar  into  his  ears  that  the  world 
is  all  alive  and  kicking  ?  ' 

'  Is  he  so  much  hurt  as  that  ?  '  said  Penn  with  a  sobered 
face.  '  You  might  have  known  that  I  didn't  know  what  I 
was  talking  about,  Mr.  Percival.' 

c  I  knew  it,'  said  the  skipper.  Then  in  a  quieter  voice 
he  added,  1 1  wish  we  had  your  cousin  here,  Mr.  Penn.' 

'  Here  !  '  said  Penn — '  Henry  Kaynor  on  a  privateering 
expedition !  Then  will  you  see  me  chief  confidant  of  the 
Great  Mogul  and  adviser  extraordinary  to  the  Kham  of 
Tartary.' 

'  He  can  fight,'  said  the  skipper  coolly.  i  There  was  not 
a  better  man  of  all  that  the  Paul  Jones  took  from  that 
brig.' 

*  Fight — yes,  with  anybody,'  said  Penn,  '  but  what  do 
you  want  of  him  now  ?  There's  no  work  for  him  now  on 
board  the  Eagle,  that  I  see.' 

'  You  don't  see  far,  Mr.  Penn,'  said  the  master.  c  There 
is  work  for  him — and  not  one  of  us  is  fit  to  do  it — work 
below,  to  give  that  craft  a  chart  and  compass  and  set  her 


THE  BATTERY  BY  SUNDOWN.         173 

off  on  the  right  tack.  Think  of  that  man  dying  there,  and 
not  a  soul  that  can  speak  a  word  to  him. ' 

(  We  shall  be  at  the  Battery  by  sundown,  said'  Penn, 
who  preferred  to  choose  his  own  thoughts. 

*  Aye,'  said  Mr.  Percival,  and  the  conversation  ceased. 

It  blew  lightly  from  the  south  now,  and  the  Eagle 
skimmed  along  with  a  full  sail  and  a  motionless  rudder.  In 
the  west  the  sun  was  rapidly  nearing  the  Jersey  hills,  and 
light  streaks  and  flakes  of  cloud  bedecked  the  sky,  and 
embroidered  its  blue  with  their  own  gold  and  rose  colour. 
The  bay  caught  the  bright  tints,  and  glowed  and  shone  in 
competition  5  and  on  shore  everything  glittered  that  could, 
and  those  better  things  that  could  not,  shone  with  a  more 
refreshing  light. 

In  a  perfect  bath  of  sunbeams  the  Eagle  came  up  ,,the 
'bay ;  the  American  flag  fluttering  lightly  out,  and  the 
English  colours  which  hung  too  low  for  the  breeze,  drooping 
down  and  scarce  stirring  their  folds.  On  and  on — till  she 
neared  the  Battery — and  from  the  crowds  assembled  there 
went  up  a  shout  as  from  one  voice. 

Then  every  gun  roared  out  its  welcome,  and  the  vessel 
was  made  fast  and  her  captors  sprang  ashore;  and  quiet 
found  but  one  resting-place — it  was  where  the  two  wounded 
-men  were  gently  carried  through  the  crowd,  and  their  nine 
comrades  came  after  as  prisoners. 


174  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Just  so  romances  are,  for  what  else 

Is  in  them  all  but  love  and  battles  ? 

O1  th1  first  of  these  we  have  no  great  matter 

To  treat  of,  but  a  world  o'  th'  latter.— HUDIBRAS. 

*  You  don't  mean  to  say,  Torn  £>kiddy,'  said  Martha,  as  she 
stood  leaning  against  the  breakfast  room  door  one  morning 
with  her  hands  behind  her;  'you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that 
he  never  comes  in  ?  ' 

{  Never  comes  in — '  replied  Tom,  who  was  assiduously 
dressing  the  line  of  knives  and  forks. 

'  Why  I  let  him  once  myself — '  said  Martha  with  a  very 
triumphant  twist  of  her  mouth.  l  Now  what  do  you  say  to 
that,  Tom  Skiddy  ?  ' 

( I  say  he  never  comes  in,  Martha  Jumps.  I  don't  say 
he  never  did  come  in,  in  the  course  of  his  existence — I've 
let  him  in  myself,  maybe  two  or  three  times ;  but  he  never 
does  come  in, — not  this  whole  summer.' 

*  And  so  many  times  as  Hulda's  been  there,  too,'  said 
Martha  parenthetically. 

'  Just  brings  her  up  the  steps  and  sets  her  down  in  the 
hall,'  said  Tom,  '  and  then  off  ke  goes  before  you  can  say 
Jack  Robinson.' 

'  'Taint  lik'ely  he'd  stop  if  you  did  get  it  out,  seeing  it 


POINTS.  175 

^ 

aint  bis  name,'  observed  Martha  ;  '  so  that's  not  much  to  the 
point.' 

{  Everything  needn't  be  pointed  in  this  world,'  said  Tom 
dryly. 

*  That's  lucky,'  said  Martha, — c  'cause  some  things  don't 
take  one  so  well  as  some  others.' 

And  Martha  swayed  herself  and  the  door  pleasantly  back 
and  forth,  while  Tom's  motions  grew  dignified. 

'  Well  that  is  queer,  aint  it  ? '  said  Miss  Jumps  at  length. 
c  Now  Tom,  you're  cute  enough  sometimes — what's  the  sense 
of  it  ? ' 

'  '  This  is  one  of  the  other  times,'  said  Tom,  as  he  gave 
the  salt-cellars  a  composing  little  shake  and  set  them  right 
and  left  in  their  places. 

'  0 — that's  it,'  said  Martha.  '  But  after  all  it  aint  worth 
while  to  keep  one's  sense  for  too  uncommon  occurrences ;  and 
I  tell  you  I  can't  stay  but  a  minute  and  a  quarter,  so  say  on, 
— what's  the  use  of  a  man's  keeping  out  when  he's  dying 
to  come  in  ?  ' 

'  He's  mighty  tenacitous  of  life  then,'  said  Tom. 

1  Don't  tell  me  ! '  said  Martha  impatiently.  '  I  know !  so 
do  you.' 

'  I  know  one  thing,'  said  Tom, — '  I  wish  Miss  Rosalie  'd 
get  sick.'  And  Tom  shtfok  his  head  and  went  into  the 
pantry  for  mats. 

{ What  are  you  up  to,  Tom  Skiddy  ? '  said  •  Martha  ad 
miringly. 

'  I  should  be  up  to  something — seeing  where  I  come 
from,'  said  Tom. 

1  Where  was  that  ?  '  said  Martha,  <  Egypt  ?  ' 

Tom  signified  that  he  was  a  chip  of  the  true  Charter 
.    Oak. 

*  Well,  that's  saying  something  for  you,  if  it  aint  for 


176  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

Connecticut/  observed  Martha.  '  Then  it  was  some  one  elso 
came  out  of  the  Phoenix's  ash-pan.  After  all,  Connecticut 
aint  the  biggest  state  in  the  United, — not  by  several.' 

'  And  a  pint  of  pippins  aint  so  large  as  a  bushel  of  lady 
apples,'  said  Tom  shortly. 

c  Lady  apples  don't  grow  in  Connecticut,  then  ? '  said 
Martha  with  a  face  of  grave  inquiry. 

'  Aint  much  need — '  said  Tom.  c  The  market's  run 
down  with  'em  from  other  places.' 

(  The  market  '11  bear  up  under  'em  this  some  time  yet,' 
said  Martha — *  the  good  ones.  But  I  say,  Tern  Skiddy— 
what  would  you  do  suppos'n  Miss  Rosalie  should  take  sick  ?  ' 

'  Just  tell  him — I'd  fetch  him  in  quick  enough.' 

'  Do  you  s'pose  he'd  come  1 '  said  Martha. 

1 1  guess  likely,'  said  Tom.  c  He'd  be  took  all  of  a  sud 
den,  you  see,  and  wouldn't  stop  to  think.' 

'  It's  a  nice  thing  to  amuse  yourself,'  said  Martha  as  she 
moved  meditatively  away,  '  but  it  aint  best  to  be  too  mis 
chievous,  Tom  Skiddy.' 

Tom  was  right. 

Often  as  little  Hulda  -spent  the  day  at  the  '  Quakerage,' 
as  Thornton  called  it ;  often  as  her  friend  brought  her  home; 
he  never  came  further  than  the  hall  door.  .  And  though  her 
little  hand  and  voice  made  many*  an  effort  to -bring  him  in, 
they  won  nothing  beyond  a  smile  and  a  kiss,  or  a  kind-spoken 
'Not  to-day.' 

Meanwhile  the  year  went  on,  and  the  war  with  its  vary 
ing  fortune  traversed  sea  and  land.  The  English  papers  set 
forth  that  "  the  American  navy  must  be  annihilated,"  "  the 
turbulent  inhabitants  must  be  tamed,"  and  <:  the  Americans 
beaten  into  submission  ;  "  and  nevertheless  the  papers  on 
this  side  the  sea  continued  to  chronicle  such  items  as  these  : 

"  The  privateer  Paul  Jones,  of  this  port,  was  spoken  on 


PRIVATEERING.  177 

the  16th  April,  having  in  her  company  the  British  ship 
Lord  Sidmouth,  her  prize,  with  a  valuable  cargo,  and 
$30,000  in  specie." 

"  The  privateer  Comet,  of  Baltimore,  fell  in  with  an 
English  ship,  brig,  and  schooner,  under  convoy  of  a  Portu 
guese  "brig  of  16  guns,  which  she  engaged,  and  captured  all 
three  in  less  than  an  hour." 

And  then  came  the  less  pleasant  intelligence,  "  The  Lord 
Sidmouth,  prize  to  the  privateer  Paul  Jones,  was  recaptured 
on  Sunday  afternoon  within  Gull  light,  near  New  London, 
by  the  British  frigate  Orpheus.  On  the  same  day  the 
Orpheus  captured  two  other  American  ships." 

But  as  the  papers  said  again, — 

"  The  spirit  of  our  transatlantic  brethren,  in  conformity 
with  the  spirit  of  true  republicanism,  rises  with  every  suc 
ceeding  miscarriage  and  defeat." 

Then  came  the  battles  of  Lake  Erie,  and  of  the  Thames ; 
and  the  American  papers  found  full  employment  for  all  their 
exclamation  points. 

One  Saturday  evening,  late  in  October,  the  city  was  in 
an  unusual  state  of  murmur  and  commotion, — tea-time 
seemed  to  have  no  power  to  send  people  home ;  and  night 
fell  on  even  busier  streets  than  the  day  had  seen.  Busy 
tongues  and  busy  feet  kept  pace  with  each  other,  and  the 
city  seemed  to  have  poured  itself  out  into  the  chief  thorough 
fares.  And  as  the  great  wave  of  people  rolled  steadily  on 
and  down,  the  upper  part  of  the  city  became  more  and  more 
deserted  ;  and  once  off  the  pavements,  the  watchman  and 
his  sonorous  cry  of  *  All's  well ! '  were  the  most  notable  sub 
jects  of  attention. 

No  city  stir  had  reached  the  '  Quakerage,' — indeed  a 
bustling  crowd  could  hardly  abide  there,  but  would,  like  a 
swarm  of  bees,  seek  some  rougher  place  whereon  to  cling 
8* 


178  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

And  if  silence  reigned  without,  and  swayed  her  sceptre  over 
tree  and  bush,  her  rule  was  no  less  complete  within.  There 
was  talk  enough  in  the  kitchen,  but  the  quiet  ( thee'  and 
1  thou,'  '  nay '  and  <  yea,  verily,'  of  Rachel  and  her  compan 
ions,  sent  forth  no  more  than  a  gentle  murmur  which  had 
rather  a  lullaby  effect.  And  up-stairs  the  wood  snapped 
and  crackled  audibly  enough  to  attest  the  stillness.  What 
ever  Mr.  Penn  had  done  with  hi-mself,  he  was  not  there;  and 
Mr.  Henry  sat  writing,  and  his  mother  with  her  usual  busy 
play  of  knitting-needles.  The  cat  dozed  before  the  fire, 
sending  forth  occasional  long  and  sleepy  purrs  as  if  they 
scarce  paid  for  the  trouble ;  now  and  then  getting  up  to  take 
a  dreamy  survey  of  his  master  or  mistress,  and  then  curling 
down  again,  as  by  the  sheer  force  of  necessity. 

Nor  were  those  green  eyes  the  only  ones  that  took  note 
of  Mr.  Henry.  His  mother  looked  at  him  often  in  the 
slight  pauses  of  her  work  :  when  a  needle  was  knit  off,  or 
the  heel  finished,  or  when  the  turn  qame  in  knitting  the  gore. 
He  looked  tired  she  thought,  and  so  he  did,  and  was ;  being 
one  of  those  spirits  so  absolutely  at  rest  within  themselves 
that  their  energies  work  hard  for  other  people, — and  then 
need  from  still  others,  rest  and  refreshment. 

'  Henry,'  said  the  quakeress  at  length,  '  move  thy  head 
further  to  the  right,  that  I  may  see  thee.' 

He  smiled  as  he  complied,  and  said, 

<  Well,  mother  ? ' 

1 1  thought  to  see  if  the  shadow  on  thine  eyes  came  only 
from  the  lamp,'  she  answered. 

1  There  is  no  undue  shade  upon  them  now,  is  there 
mother  ? ' 

'  Nay,'  said  the  quakeress,  though  her  look  was  a  little 
wistful, — '  truly  I  think  there  is  nothing  undue  about  thee.' 
But  she  eyed  him  still ;  and  he  threw  down  his  pen  and 
came  and  took  part  of  her  ample  footstool. 


"  WE  HAVE  MET  THE  ENEMY  ! "       179 

'  If  I  interfere  with  your  feet,  mother,  you  can  put  then: 
on  my  lap.  Are  you  troubling  yourself  about  me  ? ' 

'  I  would  I  could  remove  all  trouble  from  thee,  dear,'  she 
said. 

*  That  would  not  be  well  for  me — since  it  is  not  done,'  he 
answered  gently.  *  Why  mother,  have  you  forgot  your 
favourite  saying,  '  patience  reacheth  all "? ' 

The  quakeress  bent  down,  and  stroking  both  hands  across 
his  forehead  she  kissed  it  two  or  three  times. 

'  Go  back  to  thy  work,  dear  child,'  she  said,  *  and  surely 
the  Lord  is  with  thee  in  all  that  thou  doest.  Go  back, 
Henry — I  will  not  have  thee  sit  here — thou  art  a  strong  ro- 
proof  to  me.' 

He  went  as  she  bade  him,  but  wrote  less  steadily  than 
before ;  breaking  off  now  and  then  to  talk  or  ask  some  ques 
tion,  until  his  letters  were  done  and  ready  for  sealing.  The 
taper  was. lit  and  the  melted  wax  was  just  in  a  right  gtate 
for  the  first  letter,  when  there  came  a  rush  through  the 

house it  might,  have  been  the  wind,  but  it  was  only 

Mr.  Penn. 

Slam  went  the  door,  whirl  went  the  table  an  inch  or^iwo 
from  its  place,  and  down  went  Mrs.  Raynor's  ball  of  yarn 
upon  the  cat,  ere  Mr.  Penn  had  the  floor  to  his  satisfaction 
and  could  give  utterance  to  his  sentiments. 

'  "  United  States  Brig  Niagara,"  '  he  began — <  "  off*  the 
Western  Sister,  head  of  Lake  Erie,  Sept.  10,  1813,  4  p.  M. 

* "  Dear  General — We  have  met  the  enemy — and  they  are 
ours.  Two  ships,  two  brigs,  one  schooner,  and  one  sloop. 
Yours,  with  great  respect  and  esteem,  0.  H.  PERRY."  ' 

His  breath  quite  spent  with  the  various  exclamation 
points  which  were  introduced  to  suit  his  fancy,  Mr.  Penn 
stood  still  to  take  the  effect  of  his  intrusion. 

Mr.  Henry  looked  up  at  him  for  a  moment  with  some 


180  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

gravity;  and  then  looking  down  again  with  a  smile  which  if 
not  sympathetic  was  at  least  kindly,  he  threw  aside  the 
wrapper  on  which  the  melted  wax  had  dropped  in  the  wrong 
place,  took  another  and  went  on  sealing  his  letters.  The 
quakeress  felt  herself  more  aggrieved. 

'Whom  dost  thou  respect  and  esteem?'  she  inquired 
with  some  severity. 

'What  ma'am?'  said  Penn.  'Harry! — just  look  at 
that ! ' 

For  the  knight  of  Malta,  being  aroused  by  the  summary 
descent  of  the  ball  upon  his  nose,  immediately  rolled  over 
upon  his  back,  and  seizing  the  intruder  in  both  paws  inflicted 
a  perfect  battery  of  kicks  with  his  hind  feet ;  biting  it  from 
time  to  time  and  then  kicking  the  harder.  Nor  did  the 
rapid  unwinding  of  the  yarn  and  the  partial  entanglement 
to  which  the  knight  found  himself  subjected,  at  all  mitigate 
his  wrath.  , 

'  Thou  art  as  unmannerly  as  the  cat,'  said  Mrs.  Raynor, 
while  Penn  testified  his  delight  at  the  feline  antics  by  several 
of  his  own.  But  Mr.  Henry  stooped  down,  and  bringing  his 
fingers  into  ticklish  contact  with  the  back  of  the  cat's  head, 
so  distracted  his  attention  that  the  ball  was  allowed  to  roll 
away. 

'  How  much  mischief  thee  does  contrive  to  do  in  the 
course  of  the  year,  Penn,'  said  the  quakeress. 

'  In  a  small  way,  ma'am,'  said  her  nephew  as  he  picked 
up  the  ball  and  presented  it. 

*  But  how  would  thee  like  to  knit  with  thy  yarn  all  wet?' 
said  Mrs.  Raynor,  beginning  to  wind  and  finding  her  own  in 
that  condition. 

'  I  think  I  should  like  it  decidedly,  if  I'd  been  knitting 
dry  yarn  all  my  life,'  replied  Mr.  Penn.  '  But  how  can  you 
be  sitting  here  !  Harry,  have  you  seen  the  illuminations  ? ' 


A    BEAUTIFUL    FRIEND.  181 

1 1  have  not  been  out  of  the  house  since  sundown.' 

'  Then  come  now — ah  do  ! '  said  his  cousin.  '  Let's  go 
and  take  Miss  Clyde  to  see  them — will  you  ?  ' 

1  No,'  said  Mr.  Raynor. 

'  But  why  not  ?  you  are  just  hindering  my  pleasure.' 

'  I  do  not  hinder  your  taking  anybody  you  like,  except 
myself,  Penn.' 

'  I'm  not  sure  that  she'd  go  with  me,  though,'  said  Penn. 
'  However,  I  can  try.  And  you  had  much  better  come  too 
— I  tell  you  they're  worth  seeing.  So  reconsider  the  matter 
and  come.' 

Penn  went,  and  Mr.  Raynor  somewhat  thoughtfully  laid 
his  letters  together,  then  took  them  again  and  retouched  the 
directions. 

'  Does  thee  think  Rosalie  will  go  with  that  boy  ? '  said 
the  quakeress. 

c  I  do  not  know  indeed,  mother.'" 

'  Art  thou  going  out  thyself  1 ' 

*  So  far  as  the  post-office — perhaps  nowhere  else.' 

'  Thee  does  not  care  for  these  silly  shows,  Henry  1 '  said 
the  quakeress  with  a  half  doubtful  look  at  her  son. 

He  smiled  as  he  answered, 

'  I  care  a  good  deal  for  the  occasion,  mother — not  so 
much  for  the  show.' 

'  Thee  would  have  made  a  beautiful  Friend  ! '  said  his 
mother,  with  another  look  that  was  a  little  regretful  at  the 
calm,  dignified  face  before  her.  '  It  is  the  only^ thing  about 
thee  that  I  cannot  understand.' 

He  did  not  attempt  to  explain  it,  though  for  a  moment 
the  bright  play  of  eye  -and  mouth  half  saved  him  the 
trouble  ;  but  he  said, 

'  I  will  be  as  good  a  friend  as  I  can  in  this  dress,  mother 
— and  for  the  rest,  thee  does  not  wish  I  should  give  thee  any 
other  name  than  that  ? ' 


182  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

She  answered  his  smile — as  anybody  must — and  he  left 
the  room. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Penn  presented  himself  to  the  assem 
bled  gaze  of  Rosalie,  Thornton,  and  Dr.  Buffem  ;  for  if  the 
old  Doctor  felt  himself  in  want  of  tea  when  in  Rosalie's 
neighbourhood,  he  often  went  to  get  it  from  her  hand, — or 
as  Thornton  declared,  for  the  express  purpose  of  snubbing 
him  if  he  was  at  home  and  finding  it  out  if  he  was  not. 
Therefore  in  the  expectation  of  being  snubbed,  Mr.  Clyde 
was  rarely  very  gracious,  and  was  really  glad  on  the  present 
occasion  to  have  Penn  come  in  and  go  shares  with  him. 

'  I  hope  you  have  not  been  out  yet,  Miss  Clyde  ? '  said 
Penn — '  I  mean  to  see  the  illuminations  ? ' 

No,  Miss  Clyde  had  not. 

'  Because  in  that  case, '  said  Penn,  *  I  have  come  to  offer 
my  poor  services.  I  tried  to  bring  better  ones  and  couldn't 
get  them.'  ^ 

1  Where  is  your  cousin  to-night,  Mr.  Penn  ? '  said  the 
Doctor. 

'  Writing  love-letters,  I  shoufd  think  by  the  quantity,' 
said  Penn.  '  He  didn't  give  me  a  chance  to  try  the  quality.' 

1  The  wiser  man  he,'  said  the  Doctor.  '  And  so  you  have 
not  been  out.  Miss  Rosalie  ?  Must  go,  my  dear 

"  Unmuffle,  ye  fair  stars,  and  them  fair  moon, 
That  wont'st  to  love  the  traveller's  benison" 

What  would  the  illumination  be  without  you  ?  ' 

'  The  moon  is  not  favourable  to  illuminations,  sir,'  said 
Rosalie. 

'  Depends  upon  what  sort  of  a  moon  it  is,'  said  the  Doc 
tor.  /  I'd  risk  such  a  planet  anywhere.  And  there  are 
some  transparencies  about  you,  too.  How  many  enemies  do 
you  suppose  now  you'll  meet  in  the  streets  to-night  ? ' 


ILLUMINATIONS.  183 

{  Enemies  to  me  as  a  moon  ? '  said  Rosalie  smiling — '  all 
the  illuminators  I  suspect,  and  perhaps  some  other  people.' 

'  Have  a  care  ! '  said  the  Doctor  with  a  threatening  ges 
ture  of  his  finger.  '  Don't  you  exasperate  me.  I  mean  ene 
mies  on  Commodore  Perry's  principle •"  We  have  met 

the  enemy — and  they  are  ours  !  "  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  ' 

The  gentlemen  laughed,  but  Rosalie  did  not  put  her 
thoughts  into  words. 

'  By  the  way  ! '  said  the  Doctor — '  I  should  think  you'd 
have  enemies  in  earnest !  What's  this  I  heard  about  you 
the  other  day  ?  ' 

'  I  have  not  the  least  idea,'  said  Rosalie. 

The  Doctor  finished  his  cup  of  tea,  and  then  rising  from 
the  table  and  planting  himself  upon  the  hearth  rug,  he  re 
peated  with  many  a  flourish : 

' '  Though  we  eat  little  flesh  and  drink  no  wine, 
Yet  let's  be  merry :  we'll  have  tea  and  toast ; 
Custards  for  supper,  and  an  endless  host 
Of  syllabubs  and  jellies  and  mince  pies, 
And  other  such  lady-like  luxuries, — 
Feasting  on  which  we  will  philosophize.' ' 

'  Goodnight  Miss  Rosalie — you've  been  the  death  of 
two  of  my  patients  already,  keeping  me  here  so  long.  Mr. 
Penn — if  anything  happens  to  the  moon  to-night  I'll  be  the 
death  of  you — or  as  I  don't  fight  duels  I'll  turn  you  over  to 
your  cousin.  Captain  Thornton — your  most  obedient ! ' 

'  What  a '  said  Thornton,  and  put  the  rest  in  his 

teacup. 

1  Yes,  how  much  we  are  losing,'  said  Penn. 

'  Get  ready,  do  ! '  said  Thornton  impatiently,  '  and  we 
will  all  go  together.'  And  upon  that  promise  Rosalie  went. 

It  was  a  pretty  thing  to  walk  through  the  rows  of  gleam- 


184  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

ing  houses,  and  to  observe  the  variety  wrought  by  the  taste 
the  economy,  or  the  patriotism  of  their  owners.  Some  fronts 
were  lighted  from  garret  to  cellar — the  house  looking  out 
with  all  its  eyes,  and  those  bright  ones,  upon  the  thronged 
streets.  And  now  and  then  might  be  seen  a  dwelling  that 
was  s'eemingly  the  abode  of  little  beside  a  regard  for  the 
world's  opinion ;  and  a  few  groans  once  in  a  while,  shewed 
that  opinion  to  be  unappeased.  The  public  buildings  dis 
played  transparencies  as  well  as  lights. 

*  Look,  Miss  Clyde  ! '  Penn  Raynor  exclaimed,  as  they 
came  near  the  City  Hall ;  '  do  you  see  that  window  with 
Lake  Erie  and  the  fleets  ? — isn't  it  capital !  And  here  in 
this  other  are  Lawrence's  last  words,  poor  fellow  ! — "  Don't 
give  up  the  ship  !  " — Perry  had  that  written  on  his  flag  be 
fore  the  battle.  And  Tammany  Hall  has  got  Perry  him 
self,  changing  his  ship  in  the  very  thick  of  it.' 

The  transparencies  shone  forth,  and  the  spectators 
cheered,  and  the  different  national  airs  floated  sweetly  down 
from  the  City  Hall  on  the  night  wind,  as  drummers  and  all 
the  sons  of  .ZEolus  did  their  best ;  as  Rosalie  with  her  two 
supporters  moved  slowly  down  to  get  a  better  view  of  the 
Park  Theatre.  It  was  brilliant  with  lights  and  transpa 
rencies, — the  fight  between  the  Hornet  and  Peacock,  among 
others  ;  and  Commodore  Perry's  concise  announcement, 

"  We    have  met  the  enemy — and  they  are  ours." 

'  Miss  Clyde,'  said  Penn  Ray  nor,  '  you  must  let  go  of 
me  if  you  please — I  Can't  stand  that, — and  I  really  shouldn't 
like  to  hurrah  with  a  lady  on  my  arm.  But  if  they  shout 
again  I  must.' 

Rosalie  laughed  and  released  him,  then  and  afterwards, 
whenever  his  feelings  required  ;  and  would  gladly  have  let 
him  go  altogether  that  she  might  be  the  more  sure  of  Thorn 
ton.  He  spoke  from  time  to  time  with  some  of  his  friends, 


THE    CKOWD.  185 

but  gave  no  signs  of  joining  them  until  Penn  had  come  back 
from  a  final  cheer  for  Commodore  Perry. 

*  "Will  that  last  you  till  you  get  home,  Penn  ? '  he  in 
quired. 

1  Probably,'  said  Mr.  Penn; — £  unless  I  meet  Perry  him 
self — or  Harrison.' 

•  '  Then  I  shall  leave  my  sister  in  your  charge,'  said 
Thornton.  But  as  he  felt  her  hand  involuntarily  take  closer 
hold  of  his  arm,  Thornton  added  with  a  half  apologetic  tone, 

'  I  shall  be  home  soon,  Alie — before  you  are  asleep,  I 
dare  say.' 

She  could  only  let  him  go — but  so  sorrowful  were  the 
thoughts  sent  after  him,  that  not  for  some  minutes  did  she 
remember  the  poor  protection  in  which  she  was  left.  It  was 
first  brought  to  mind,  when  as  Mr.  Penn's  eyes  were  engaged 
with  the  transparencies,  the  crowd  and  she  came  in  rather 
rough  contact.  She  spoke  at  once, 

'  You  see  what  you  have  brought  upon  yourself,  Mr. 
Penn, — I  must  take  you  away  from  Commodore  Perry,  and 
you  must  take  me  home.' 

'  With  the  greatest  pleasure  ! '  said  Penn,  who  never 
forgot  his  good  nature, — '  that  is  if  I  can — the  crowd  is  so 
thick.  Hadn't  you  better  go  down  as  far  as  the  City 
Hotel  ?  ' 

'No  I  think  not.' 

c  What  made  me  speak  of  it,'  said  Penn,  as  they  turned 
and  began  to  walk  up  Broadway,  '  the  people  are  all  going 
down  just  now,  and  you'd  find  it  easier.  I'm  afraid  it 
will  be  hard  work  for  you  to  get  along  this  way.' 

It  was  rather  hard  work,  and  once  Rosalie  was  nearly 
borne  back  by  the  down  tide  of  population  ;  when  her  other 
hand  was  taken  and  put  on  somebody's  arm,  and  a  quiet 
4  good  evening,  Miss  Rosalie,'  announced  Mr.  Raynor.  If 
Miss  Rosalie  felt  relief,  so  did  Mr.  Penn. 


186     •  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

*  It  is  the  most  remarkable  thing  in  the  world,  Harry, 
that  you  always  come  just  when  I  want  you.' 

( It  was  not  because  you  wanted  me,  in  this  case,'  said 
his  cousin. 

'  No,  very  likely  not,'  said  Penn,  'but  a  bright  idea  has 
just  come  into  my  head ;  and  I  believe  there'll  be  time  for  it 
yet,  if  Miss  Clyde  will  only  let  me  leave  her  with  you — she 
has  so  little  way  to  go  now.' 

'  She  will  let  you  with  pleasure,'  said  Mr.  Raynor. 

'  I  dare  say  she  will— she  was  always  so  good,'  said  Penn ; 
and  darting  off  without  more  ado,  he  left  Rosalie  to  wonder 
that  one  man's  way  through  the  world  should  be  so  different 
from  another's, — the  crowd  touched  her  no  more  that  night. 

'  Do  you  know,  Miss  Rosalie,'  said  Mr.  Raynor,  as  he 
stood  with  his  hand  on  the  bell,  *  that  in  this  good  city  you 
need  better  protection  on  some  nights  than  on  others  ? ' 

'  Yes,'  she  said  quickly,  '  but — '  and  then  checking  her 
self,  she  simply  added,  {  I  know  it.' 

Mr.  Raynor  looked  at  her  for  a  moment — for  every 
pane  of  glass  in  the  whole  house  gave  forth  light ;  but  as  if 
he  guessed  what  she  did  not  tell  him  he  asked  no  further 
questions.  The  bell  was  rung  and  they  parted. 

When  Mr.  Raynor  reached  his  own  home,  he  found  that 
Mr.  Penn  had  employed  his  spare  time  in  getting  candles 
and  putting  them  in  every  window  that  he  dared  appro 
priate. 

His  own  rooms  and  Mr.  Henry's  and  all  that  belonged 
to  nobody  in  particular — the  garret — even  the  dining  room 
had  Mr.  Penn  enlivened  to  the  extent  of  his  power ;  and 
the  house  looked  like  a  hotel  of  patriotism  and  treason. 
But  the  candles  burned  as  if  there  had  been  never  a  quakei 
nor  a  traitor  in  the  whole  world. 


A  NEIGHBOUKLY   REVIEW.  187 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The   neighbourhood  wore  at  their  wits  end,  to    consider  what  would  bo  the 
issue.  —  L'ESTKAN  GE. 

1  ARE  the  Clydes  coming  to-night,  mamma  ? '  said  Miss 
Clinton,  as  she  took  a  last  elaborate  back  and  front  yiew  of 
herself. 

'  Yes,  my  dear — I  suppose  so — I  invited  them  of  course.5 

'  But  I  mean  are  they  coming — what  does  ail  the  neck 
of  this  dress  ?  ' 

1  Nothing  at  all.' 

1  Nothing  at  all !  when  it  twists  round  and  puckers — ' 

1  When  you  twist  round.' 

1  When  I  don't.  And  just  see  mamma — the  waist  is  a 
great  deal  too  long.' 

'  I  don't  perceive  it,  indeed.' 

'  Because  you  don't  look,  ma'am.  Let  me  shew  you 

where's  a  card — now  what  do  you  think  of  that  ? — two 
inches  below  the  sleeve,  mamma ! ' 

'  I  think  my  dear,  that  your .  grandmother  would  have 
thought  two  inches  below  the  sleeve  was  no  waist  at  all.1 

*  Very  likely  ma'am,  but  the  old  lady  didn't  know  every 
thing.  What  makes  you  think  the  Clydes  will  come  ?  They 
might  have  forgotten  to  send  regrets.' 

'  I  saw  Mr.  Clyde  in  the  street  to-day,  and  he  said  he 
should  certainly  come  and  bring  his  sister.' 


188  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  I  should  think  he  might,  it  will  be  such  a  small  party. 
But  it's  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  so  long  out  of  society  !  one 
grows  so  shockingly  old.  Why  mamma,  she  must  be 
more  than  twenty.' 

'  Well  my  dear,  so  must  you,  if  you  live  long  enough.' 

'  My  dear  ma'am  what  things  you  do  always  say  to  bring 
down  one's  spirits ! — Just  like  Marion  Arnet, — she  told 

me  the  other  day By  the  by  she's  just  as  much  off  as  ever 

with  Thornton  Clyde.' 

'  Is  that  what  she  told  you  ?  ' 

'  La  no,  mamma — what  an  idea  !  But  I  mean  there's  not 
the  least  prospect  of  their  ever  making  it  up.'  And  Miss 
Clinton  surveyed  herself  in  the  glass  with  much  compla 
cency. 

'  I  can't  conceive  what  concern  it  is  of  yours,  my 
dear.' 

'  No  ma'am — perhaps  not, — but  one  likes  to  talk.' 

'  I  think  however  that  one  should  talk  goodnaturedly, 
when  one  can.'  said  Mrs.  Clinton,  as  she  got  up  and  peeped 
over  her  daughter's  shoulder.  '  Dear  me — I  look  pale  to 
night  !  How  should  you  like  to  have  such  remarks  made 
about  you,  my  dear  ?  ' 

1  Dear  mamma  ! — as  if  I  ever,  ever  «ould  be  such  a  fool ! 
But  Rosalie  never  does  make  disagreeable  speeches,  so  I'm 
quite  willing  she  should  come ;  especially  as  she's  so  grave 
now  and  quiet.  I  suppose  her  engrossing  power  can  hardly 
have  survived  these  two  years  of  seclusion.' 

Miss  Clinton  wondered  how  it  had  survived,  when  she 
saw  Rosalie  enter  the  room  and  perceived  that  the  engross 
ing  power  was  in  full  force.  It  was  only  natural  she  tried 
to  persuade  herself,  that  people  should  crowd  about  one 
whom  they  had  seen  but  seldom  for  a  year  or  two ;  but  a 
mere  greeting  did  not  seem  to  content  them,  and  there  were 


DIFFERENT   LIGHTS.  189 

as  many  new  as  old  friends  in  the  circle  that  soon  formed 
about  Miss  Clyde.  Only  over  one  person  she  seemed  to 
have  lost  her  power.  Mr.  Raynor  went  up  and  paid  his 
respects,  and  came  away  again, — therefore,  as  Miss  Clinton 
remarked  to  herself,  '  there  could  have. been  nothing  in  that} 
The  power  had  not  descended  to  her,  however,  for  ho 
attached  himself  perseveringly  to  two  old  ladies ;  and  was 
deep  in  a  discussion  upon  the  state  of  the  roads,  the  streets, 
and  the  atmosphere,  and  just  having  his  juvenile  inexperience 
enlightened  on  the  subject  of  hailstorms,  when  his  fair  host 
ess  claimed  his  attention. 

'  Mr.  Raynor,  doesn't  it  seem  very  dull  to  you  here,  after 
Paris  ? ' 

'  As  the  daylight  after  gas.' 

c  Well,  that  is  pretty  bad.  Things  look  beautiful  by 
gaslight,  don't  you  think  so  ?  ' 

'Beautiful? — some  things,'  said  the  gentleman,  whose 
eye  had  made  a  momentary  excursion  after  his  thoughts. 
1  But  candlelight  is  in  general  thought  more  becoming  Miss 
Clinton.' 

'  Do  you  think  so  ?  The  other  room  is  lighted  with 
candles — let  us  go  in  there  and  see  if  the  people  look 
different.' 

'  By  what  rule  of  comparison  will  you  judge  of  different 
people  by  different  lights  ? '  said  Mr.  Raynor,  as  he  obe 
diently  gave  the  lady  his  arm. 

'  0  we  can  compare  each  other,'  said  Miss  Clinton  laugh 
ing.  '  But  candles  must  be  the  most  becoming,  as  you  say, 
for  all  the  oldest  people  have  got  in  here  to  have  the  benefit 
of  it.' 

He  looked  grave  and  she  changed  the  subject. 

'  How  well  Miss  Clyde  looks  to-night — only  rather  pale.' 

'  "What  shade  of  colour  puts  a  lady  beyond  the  charge  of 
paleness  ? ' 


190  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

4  0  I  don't  know — but  she  keeps  herself  so  shut  up.' 
1 1  have  reason  to  believe  that  you  are  mistaken  there, 
Miss  Clinton.     I  have  certainly  received  the  impression-that 
Miss  Clyde  walks  a  great  deal.' 

1  What  is  mamma  whispering  about  ?  '  said  Miss  Clinton 
as  they  slowly  paced  back  again.  c  Wanting  Miss  Clyde  to 
sing — and  she  won't,  or  don't — which  is  it  ?  Miss  Arnet 
will — no  she  don't  choose,  I  know  from  her  look.' 

*  Will  you  sing?  '  inquired  Mr.  Raynor,  who  really  liked 
his  companion  better  at  the  piano  than  anywhere  else. 

'  0  not  for  anything — there,  some  one  else  is  going. 
And  now  Miss  Clyde  has  got  away  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Belt.  I 
would  give  the  world  for  her  coolness  and  self-possession — I 
never  could  cross  a  room  alone.' 

'  Will  you  cross  it  with  me,  then  ? '  said  Penn  Raynor 
presenting  himself.  '  Here  am  I  Miss  Clinton — at  your 
service, — totally  disengaged  because  nobody  will  take  the 
trouble  to  engage  me.'  x 

'  But  I  am  not  disengaged — '  said  Miss  Clinton. 

'  Mrs.  Clinton  says,'  pursued  Penn,  *  that  she  shall  call 
upon  Harry  next, — so  there's  a  decided  opening.' 

*  Then  we  will  walk  over  to  the  piano  together,'  said  the 
lady,  '  and  secure  a  good  place.' 

'  Aye,  take  my  arm  too,'  said  Penn.  '  Just  as  well,  you 
know  Miss  Clinton — only  the  old  line  about  two  strings  to 
your  bow,  renverse — as  we  used  to  say  in  Paris.' 

'  As  we  used  to  say,'  said  his  cousin  smiling. 

'  0  deuce  take  it  Harry — you're  so  precise, — one  word 
that  you  don't  understand  is  as  good  as  another.  But  I  say 
how  charming  Miss  Clyde  looks — and  everybody.' 

'  Mr.  Penn  is  quite  impartial  in  his  admiration,'  said 
Miss  Clinton. 

'  Always  was,'  said  Penn.     '  I'm  a  sort  of  a  bee — or  a 


BEES   AND    BUTTERFLIES.  191 

butterfly — I  declare  I  don't  know  which,  but  I  guess  it's  the 
butterfly.  I  wonder  why  people  call  bees  so  industrious  ? 
Butterflies  go  round  just  as  much,  only  they  dress  up 
for  the  occasion  and  go  by  the  force  of  sunshine.  Now 
the  bees  seem  moved  by  the  mere  power  of  business — or 
buzzincss.' 

'  You've  been  studying  natural  history,  Mr.  Penn,'  said 
Miss  Clinton  laughing. 

'  0  yes — in  the  Champs  Elysees, — good  place  that  to 
study  butterflies.  Especially  with  a  bee  along  to  keep  you 
in  order.  Harry  is  a  nice  bee  though — he  never  cries  hum.' 

*  And  never  stings,  I  hope  ?  '  said  Miss  Clinton  insinu 
atingly. 

'  Ah  there's  a  question.  But  he  don't  plunge  his  sting 
so  far  in  that  you  can't  get  it  out, — and  I  suppose  he'd  tell 
you  it  was  for  your  especial  benefit,  then.' 

'  You  would  think  Penn  spoke  from  experience,'  said  Mr. 
Kaynor,  '  but  I  assure  you  he  is  cased  in  armour  of  proof. 
Too  nimble  moreover,  and  too  skilled  in  intricate  passages. 
Like  the  bee-moth — only  not  so  mischievous.' 

1  Too  bad  that,  I  declare,'  said  Penn.  '  I  shall  not  rest 
now  till  I  have  executed  some  desperate  piece  of  mischief. 
Do  you  remember  Harry  how  I  carried  off  Miss  Clyde's 
bouquet  once  ?  ' 

*  Yes,'  said  his  cousin  rather  gloomily. 

'  Carried  it  off?  how  ?  '  said  Miss  Clinton.  <  I  shall  hold 
mine  very  fast.' 

Penn  went  into  some  laughing  threats  concerning  the 
bouquet,  and  his  cousin  as  if  old  recollections  had  taken  off 
present  restraint,  looked  over  the  heads  about  him  with  very 
little  care  whether  he  were  watched  or  not. 

It  was  a  wearisome  thing,  he  thought,  to  see  her  sitting 
there  and  not  to  be  allowed  to  go  and  talk  to  her,— to  have 


192  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

been  so  long  in  the  same  room  and  yet  to  have  had  only  the 
greeting  of  a  common  acquaintance ; — nor  quite  that,  for  it 
had  been  graver  and  more  quickly  ended ;  yet  he  would  not 
have  changed  it  for  one  of  a  class.  In  a  very  abstracted 
state  of  mind  he  obeyed  Mrs.  Clinton's  call  to  the  piano,  and 
sang. 

'  I  have  seen  what  the  world  calls  rich  and  rare, 

Beyond  the  broad  ocean's  foam; 
But  the  brightest  of  all  that  met  me  there, 

Was  the  vision  of  one  at  home. 
A  flower!  a  flower! — how  fair  it  bloomed  1 

I  had  never  seen  such  before, — 
And  my  fancy  the  full  belief  assumed, 

That  the  world  could  show  no  more. 

'  I  dreamed  a  dream  as  I  passed  along — 

A  dream,  sweet  vision !  of  thee. 
Might  so  perfect  a  thing  to  me  belong, 

Then  perfect  my  life  would  be. 
The  flower,  the  flower — I  saw  it  droop ! — 

For  a  bitter  wind  swept  by. 
But  it  twined  itself  with  a  "Weaker  group, 

And  no  power  to  take  had  L 

'  The  dream  is  broken — the  hope  is  flown, — 

Or  held  by  a  faint  'perchance;' 
And  the  joy  of  that  home  is  fainter  grown 

"Which  I  thought  she  would  enhance. 
The  flower,  the  flower ! — it  bloometh  yet,— 

Grows  sweeter — I  know  not  how! 
But  the  beauty  on  which  my  love  was  set, 

Hath  my  heart's  deep  reverence  now. 

« That  wish  of  my  life,  it  doth  not  fade — 

My  life  and  it  are  one. 
Yet  well  could  I  rest  amid  the  shade, 
Were  my  flower  but  in  the  sun. 


DID    YOU   EVER    KNOW    HER  ?  193 

My  flower!  my  flower!  thy  bended  head 

Is  dearer  than  worlds  to  me. 
I  would  give  up  life  and  take  death  instead, 

My  flower's  strong  shield  to  be ! ' 

The  song  was  not  much  in  itself,  certainly ;  but  there 
was  a  power  in  the  fine  voice  and  the  deep  feeling  and  ex 
pression  with  which  every  word  was  given,  that  held  tne 
listeners  motionless ;  and  from  end  to  end  of  the  still  room 
was  the  song  heard.  It  was  not  till  the  voice  ceased,  and 
the  singer  had  played  a  few  soft  notes  that  might  almost 
have  been  involuntary — so  exactly  did  they  carry  out  the 
spirit  of  the  song ;  that  the  ladies  recollected  their  pocket- 
handkerchiefs,  and  Penn  Raynor  exclaimed, 

(  Who  upon  earth's  that,  Harry  ?  ' 

*  Who  upon  earth  is  what  ? '  said  his  cousin  striking 
another  chord. 

'  Yes,  did  you  ever  know  her,  Mr.  Raynor  ? '  said  the 
lady  of  the  house.  , 

'  Did  I  ever  know  whom,  ma'am  ?  '  he  said  half  turning 
about. 

c  Why  this  lady  of  the  song.  There's  no  description 
given  of  her,  either — I  don't  know  how  it  is — but  it  is  all 
so  life-like  that  I  feel  as  if  I  must  have  seen  her.  Is  there 
really  such  a  flower  in  the  world  ? ' 

It  was  with  a  singular  smile  that  he  heard  her — a  smile 
that  to  any  keen  eye  would  have  said  enough.  But  lightly 
touching  the  keys  again,  his  answer  was  given  with  perfect 
gravity. 

'  If  there  be,  Mrs.  Clinton,  you  will  find  it  in  the  genus 
woman,  and  in  that  species  where  Nature  and  Christianity 
have  both  done  their  best.' 

'  0  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Raynor  knows  the  original,1 
Baid  Miss  Arnet.  '  He  always  had  a  preoccupied  air, — as  if 
9 


194  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

he  were  saying  to  himself,  "  I  have  seen  better  faces  in  my 
time,  than  stand  on  any  shoulders  that  I  see  before  me  at 
this  instant."  ' 

*  True — at  this  instant,'  said  Mr.  Raynor  looking  down 
at  the  keys.     l  But  what  a  character  to  give  of  me ! ' 

'  Deserved — '  said  Miss  Arnet. 

•  *  By  your  favour,  no,'  said  he  rousing  himself.  '  In  the 
first  place,  I  am  not  always  thinking  of  ladies'  faces,  hetero 
dox  as  that  may  seem,  r  And  in  the  second — ' 

*  No  second  to  that,  I  beg.' 

'  But  it's  very  provoking  to  be  made  to  cry  over  a  rival 
beauty,'  said  Miss  Clinton. 

'  Rival  beauties  ? '  said  Mr.  Raynor.  '  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  a  belle  that  was  rivalled  by  a  wild  flower  ?  ' 

'  No— did  you  ?  ' 

'  A  belle  thought  to  try  the  matter  once,  so  she  made  a 
great  effort  and  went  to  take  a  walk  in  the  country.' 

*  What  slander  ! '  said  two  or  three  indignant  voices. 
'  But  do  let  him  go  on,'  said  Miss  Arnet. 

'  Well — as  story-tellers  say — the  lady  went  into  the 
woods,  with  her  hoop  and  her  lace  ruffles  and  her  diamonds 
and  her  white  gloves' — 

'  Don't  you  think  diamonds  and  white  gloves  pretty  ? ' 
interrupted  Miss  Clinton, 

1  Certainly — so  did  this  lady.  She  went  on,  expecting  to 
make  a  great  impression  upon  her  rivals  ;  but  the  difficulty 
was  to  find  them.  First  she  perceived  the  Columbines. 
But  she  didn't  feel  as  if  they  were  rivals,  though  they  were 
all  red  and  yellow  like  herself ' — 

*  You  are  atrocious  ! ' 

'  As  to  her  dress,  of  course — but  they  hung  down  their 

heads  and  she  thought  the  world  was  wide  enough  for  her 

.  and  the  Columbines  too.     Their  hoops  were  so  small,  and 


THE  BELLE  AND  THE  WILD  FLOWER.     195 

they  were  such  good  little  things  that  nodded  to  every 
body.' 

'  I  am  not  a  good  little  thing,  that's  one  comfort,'  said 
Miss  Arnet. 

'  The  lady  was  puzzled  to  find  a  rival.  The  Dandelions 
were  pretty,  but  common,  and  low  bred ;  and  the  Anemones 
had  '  no  complexion,' — any  man  would  be  out  of  his  senses 
to  look  at  such  a  piece  of  wax-work.' 

The  ladies  exchanged  glances. 

*  But  at  length  she  came  to  the  violet,  and  there  she 
stood  a  long  time.  Was  the  violet  a  rival  ?  She  tried  her 
by  all  the  tests.  She  walked  before  her  and  threw  her  into 
the  shade — the  violet  looked  fairer  than  ever,  and  just  as 
good-natured.  That  was  not  like  a  rival.  But  then  some 
people  who  came  by  looked  first  at  the  violet — and  that 
was.  At  last  she  inquired  anxiously  if  the  violet  was 
invited  to  Mrs.  Peony's  ball  of  next  week.  But  the  violet 
said  she  had  never  been  to  a  ball  and  did  not  even  know 
Mrs.  Peony  by  sight.  That  settled  the  matter,  she  could 
never  be  a  belle.  So  our  friend  called  her  a  sweet  little 
creature,  and  reached  home  with  but  one  source  of  dissatis 
faction.' 

'  What  was  that  ?  '  eagerly  exclaimed  the  circle,  closing 
about  Mr.  Raynor  as  he  sat  on  the  music  stool. 

(  She  had  forgotten  to  ask  where  the  violet  bought  her 
perfume.' 

1  0  you  horrid  man  ! '  said  Miss  Clinton ;  and  l  you  are 
too  bad  ! ' — '  you  are  perfectly  scandalous  ! '  echoed  about.  - 

c  The  ladies  have  been  so  much  interested  in  the  story.' 
said  Thornton  Clyde,  c  that  they  have  forgotten  to  find  out 
why  Mr.  Raynor  took  them  into  the  woods.' 

1  You  are  in  no  doubt  on  the  subject,  Mr.  Clyde  ?  '  said 
the  person  spoken  of,  as  he  rose  and  passed  through  their 
circle. 


196  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  I  am  in  no  doubt  on  several  subjects,'  said  Thornton 
dryly.  '  Yet  now  I  think  of  it,  Mr.  Raynor,  why  was  not 
the  rose  your  chosen  subject  of  comparison  ?' 

'  Should  a  princess  by  the  popular  vote  dare  compare 
herself  with  a  queen  in  her  own  right  ? '  said  Mr.  Raynor. 

'And  does  the  queen  never  have  the  popular  vote?' 
said  Thornton. 

'  Sometimes — '  Mr.  Raynor  said,  with  a  glance  at  the 
court  just  then  holden  by  Rosalie.  But  he  himself  turned 
and  went  into  the  next  room,  merely  pausing  to  shake  hands 
with  Dr.  Buffem,  who  now  made  his  appearance. 

*  A  pretty  pass  things  have  come  to  ! '  said  the  Doctor, 
walking  straight  up  to  the  court.  *  Mrs.  Clinton — good 
evening  !  Miss  Clinton — your  humble  servant  !  A  pretty 
pass  things  have  come  to !  A  hedge-row  of  boys  round  a 
lady  and  never  a  gateway  for  a  man  to  get  through.  I'll 
make  a  clearance  ! — Miss  Rosalie — enchanting  princess — 
"  Queen  of  my  soul !  Light  of  my  eyes  !  " — shall  I  rescue 
you  from  your  enchanted  ring  ? — shall  I  send  them  about 
their  business  ? — though  indeed  my  mind  misgives  me  they 
have  none.  "  To  men  addicted  to  delights,  business  is  an 
interruption." ' 

'  The  doctor  is  personifying  business  to-night  then,'  said 
one  of  the  gentlemen  who  had  been  set  aside. 

'  What  then  ? '  said  the  doctor.  '  I  tell  you  I  sha'n't  quit 
the  ring  these  twenty  years.' 

1  You'll  have  a  chance  to  carry  everybody  off  in  that 
time,  doctor,'  said  Penn. 

1  Everybody  ?  '  said  the  doctor. 

' "  Fair  Bessie  Bell  I  lo'ed  yestreen, 

And  thought  I  ne'er  could  alter; 
But  Mary  Gray's  twa  pawky  een, 
They  gar  my  fancy  falter." 


A    DOSE   OF    CAKE.  197 

Now  my  dear,  take  my  arm,  and  let  us  have  a  comfortable 
little  walk.  Now  how  do  you  get  on  at  home — and  what 
rambles  has  the  Sister  of  Charity  been  taking  lately? 
Did  you  hear  of  the  cat  that  fell  out  of  a  two  story  window 
yesterday  ? ' 

'  No  indeed,'  said  Rosalie  smiling. 

1  Ah  that  was  a  great  case  ! '  said  the  doctor  gravely — 
'  a  great  case  !  Fell  on  her  feet  you  know  of  course,  and 
all  that,  but  must  have  deranged  the  circulation.  I  said  it 
must  have  interfered  with  the  ordinary  course  of  things  very 
much,  but  some  people  thought  not.  But  the  cat  has  not 
spoken  since.' 

1  Nor  mewed  ?  '  said  Rosalie. 

*  You  hush  ! '  said  the  doctor,  {  and  don't  put  yourself 
into  a  consultation.     But  what  have   you  been  about  ?  and 
how  are  the  pets  at  home  ?    One  of  'em  I  see  looks  flourish 
ing.' 

'  Yes,  they  are  both  very  well.' 

*  And  their  sister  aint. — Don't  tell  me — I  know — I  read 
you  like  a  book.    Let  me  feel  your  pulse. — That's  it — strong 
enough,  but  a  little  fluttering.     I  read  you  just  like  a  dic 
tionary,  my  dear — words  and  definitions.    Now  Miss  Rosalie, 
I'm  going  to  prescribe  for  you ;  and  do  you  mind  and  follow 
orders.     A  large  dose  of  care  for  yourself,  taken  night  and 
morning  in  a  little  less  care  for  other  peopled 

*  That  last  is  a  hard  medicine  to  get,  sir.' 

*  Not  a  bit  of  it — ask  anybody,  and  they'll  give  you  as 
much  as  you  want.     And  see  here — look  up  at  me — don't 
you  wash  it  down  with  anything.     Shake  it  down,  if  you 
like,  to  the  tune  of  a  hop  or  two — and  season  with  "  Quips, 
and  pranks  and  wreathed  smiles." 

4  Not  such  a  one  as  that ! — I  declare  you  are  flying  in 


198  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER; 

the  face  of  my  prescription  and  me  together.  I'll  fix  you ! 
wait  till  I  find  one  of  my  assistants  ! — ' 

1  Do  you  condescend  to  keep  any,  sir  ? '  said  Rosalie,  as 
the  doctor  began  to  walk  her  about  the  room  in  a  somewhat 
rummaging  style. 

'  The  secret  society  of  medicine,  my  dear,  has  its  officers. 
You  wait — not  long  neither.  Now,'  said  Dr.  Buffem,  push 
ing  quietly  through  a  narrow  opening,  and  indicating  with 
his  thumb  one  particular  velvet  collar ;  '  now  there  is  one 
that  I  always  employ  for  Miss  Clinton,  but  that  won't  do 
for  you.  I  must  find  an  engraving,  or  a  book — or  a  book 
worm  ! '  he  said,  bringing  Rosalie  with  a  short  turn  into  the 
library.  '  Friend  Henry,  what  art  thou  about  ?  ' 

Mr.  Raynor  started  and  turned  round  from  the  table 
where  he  stood. 

'  Not  studying  that  print  ? '  said  the  doctor. 

'  Not  at  all.' 

1  No  I  thought  not.  Well  here  is  one  of  my  patients 
whom  I  want  to  leave  in  your  hands — otherwise  on  your 
arm, — "for  I  must  quit  the  busy  haunts  of  men." — Fact, 
and  no  fib,  Miss  Rosalie — I  declare  your  eye  is  as  good  as  a 
policeman  !  Well  Mr.  Henry — are  you  going  to  do  as  I  bid 
you  ?  or  must  I  find  somebody  else  ?  ' 

*  And  how  came  Miss  Clyde  to  be  under  your  care,  sir  ?  ' 
said    Mr.   Raynor,  when  the   proposed  transfer  had  been 
made. 

*  How  came  she  to  be  under  my  care  ? — why  because  I 
took  charge  of  her.     Anything  to   say  against  it  ?     What 
the  deuce  do  you  mean  by  asking  such  a  question,  sir  ?  ' 

1  Patients  usually  seek  the  doctor,'  said  Mr.  Raynor  with 
a  slight  smile. 

'  She  never  does,'  said  Dr.  Buffem.  '  Great  peculiarity 
in  her  case  !  I've  been  prescribing  for  her  to-night. 


SUCH   CARE   AS   I   WOULD   TAKE.  199 

'  And  the  prescription  ?  ' 

1  A  trifle,  a  trifle — '  said  the  doctor.  c  A  little  good 
sense  and  insensibility. 

' "  Sound  sleep  by  night ;  study  and  ease 

Together  mixed ;  sweet  recreation, 
And  innocence  which  most  doth  please 
With  meditation." ' 

And  with  a  profound  flourish  the  doctor  moved  off. 

Mr.  Raynor  began  quietly  to  turn  over  the  engravings 
and  to  comment  upon  them,  until  his  companion  looked  up 
and  answered ;  and  then  he  said, 

'  That  is  a  most  admirable  prescription — if  it  be  made  up 
like  Bunyan's,  with  l  a  promise  or  two.' ' 

'  They  are  all  that  I  need  to  take.' 

1  No — not  quite,'  he  said,  establishing  her  hand  upon  his 
arm,  and  taking  her  away  from  the  eyes  and  tongues  of 
several  ^people  who  seemed  inclined  to  '  fall  in '  and  make  a 
circle. 

1  What  then  ?  '  said  Rosalie,  trying  to  rouse  herself  and 
shake  off  the  influence  of  two  or  three  of  the  evening's 
events.  l  Sound  sleep  I  do  take,  enough  of  it,  and  study  too ; 
though  sometimes  to  be  sure  of  a  rather  juvenile  sort — teach 
ing  Hulda  and  not  myself.  But  I  often  make  longer  and 
deeper  excursions  and  incursions  alone.  What  more  do  I 
need  ? ' 

'  I  could  easier  shew  you  than  tell  you,'  he  said  with  a 
-smile.  (  My  ideas  on  the  subject  can  never  be  put  in  words 
— and  you  could  never  follow  them.  Such  care  as  fresh  air 
and  sunshine  take  of  the  flowers, — as  you  of  Hulda, — such 
care  as  I  would  take  of  the  most  precious  thing  in  the  world, 
if  I  had  it.  And  after  all  that  tells  you  nothing.' 

She  thought  it  told  her  a  good  deal  too  much,  and 
though  words  fluttered  to  her  lips  they  came  not  forth. 


200  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  Are  you  tired  of  walking  about  ?  '  Mr.  Raynor  said  in 
the  same  quiet  way.  '  I  will  find  you  a  seat  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  what  Dr.Buffem  might  call  '  sweet  recreation,' 
— here  in  the  midst  of  geraniums  and  myrtles  and  your 
namesakes,  the  roses.  What  do  you  think  of  these  pretty 
painted  faces,  and  how  would  you  characterise  them  ? ' 

{  The  geraniums  ?  As  beautiful  and  showy,  but  I  think 
not  very  loveable.  Yet  all  the  power  they  have  is  in 
exercise — there  are  no  wasted  advantages, — they  have  made 
the  most  of  themselves.' 

1  Yes,  and  have  advanced  steadily  to  perfection.  Then 
here  is  the  myrtle, — of  most  rare  beauty  and  purity  and 
exquisiteness — if  one  may  use  the  word.  Exceeding  sweet 
too,  and  elegant  in  a  high  degree.  But  its  sweetness  you 
must  seek  out  for  yourself, — the  common  course  of  things 
does  not  call  it  forth.  For  all  but  the  eye's  perception,  the 
greenhouse  were  as  sweet  without  its  myrtle.  And  among 
flowers  as  among  characters,  the  strongest  power  of  attrac 
tion  is  that  involuntary  sweetness  which  some  few  breathe 
forth. 

'  I  will  not  trust  myself  to  speak  of  the  roses,'  he  said 
presently,  *  but  you  must  remember  that  I  watch  with 
jealous  eyes  the  care  you  bestow  upon  mine.' 

1  Deep  in  the  flowers !  '  said  Penn  Raynor  coming  up  to 
them.  *  Miss  Clyde,  Harry's  love  for  roses  has  lately  become 
what  /call  a  passion.' 

4  Eye  deep  or  thought  deep  ?  '  said  Thornton  who  had 
followed. 

*  My  thought  and  eye  have  kept  sufficiently  close  com 
pany,'  said  Mr.  Raynor. 

Thornton  looked  at  him  and  then  at  his  sister. 

1  Rosalie,  I  thought  you  wanted  to  go  home  so  early.' 

{ Is  it  late  ?  '  she  said,  rising  quick  and  taking  his  arm. 


'l  WILL  HAVE  THAT  PLEASUKE.'      201 

'  Late  for  you,  little  precision.' 

*  But  she  cannot  go  yet ! '  exclaimed  Penn.  l  You  must 
take  her  into  the  supper  room,  first.' 

1 1  will  have  that  pleasure  myself,'  said  Mr.  Kaynor. 

And  Thornton  had  no  resource  but  to  let  him  have  it, 
and  Rosalie  too,  for  the  time. 


202  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Nay,  an'  I  take  the  humour  of  a  thing  once, 

I  am  like  your  tailor's  needle,  I  go  through. — BEX  JOXSON. 

WINTER  and  night  reigned  together;  but  while  the  night 
looked  down  with  steady  gaze  upon  the  pranks  of  her  col 
league,  winter  ran  on  in  his  career,  and  caught  nothing  of  her 
still  influence.  The  wind  as' it  whirled  about  the  house  drew 
whatever  it  could  lay  hands  on  into  the  same  giddy  dance  ; 
and  tried  every  casement,  and  planted  an  ambuscade  of  puffs 
at  every  door.  Then  it  roared  in  the  chimney,  and  then 
sighed  itself  away  as  in  penitence  for  its  misdeeds ;  but  in 
reality  it  was  but  waiting  for  breath  and  a  fresh  partner. 
The  moon  was  making  her  way  westward,  bearing  steadily 
on  through  the  clouds  which  came  up  from  some  exhaustless 
storehouse  in  the  northwest :  looking  dark  at  the  horizon, 
but  lighter  and  more  flaky  beneath  the  moon's  inspection, 
and  sometimes  speeding  away  in  such  haste  that  she  rode 
clear  and  unincuinbered  for  a  few  minutes,  till  the  next 
battalion  came  up. 

In  Mrs.  Raynor's  library  the  curtains  were  let  fall  and 
the  fire  blazing ;  and  the  table  waited  but  the  arrival  of  the 
teapot  and  Mr.  Henry. 

Mr.  Penn  was  already  there,  reading  the  newspaper  all 


'JUST   SEE   THE   STATE   OF   THINGS/  203 

over,  and  in  every  dull  paragraph  indulging  himself  with 
very  audible  asides  and  interjections. 

'  What  in  the  world  has  Harry  done  with  himself?  '  he 
said  at  length,  carefully  bestowing  the  paper,  blanket-wise, 
upon  the  knight  of  Malta ;  who  crawled  out,  shook  himself, 
and  curled  down  again  immediately  by  Mrs.  Raynor  who 
was  counting  stitches  on  a  grey  stocking. 

1  Very  interesting  news,  Sir  Brian,'  said  Penn,  pursuing 
him  with  the  paper. 

'  What  did  thee  observe,  Penn  ? '  said  Mrs.  Raynor, 
when  she  had  finished  the  stitches. 

*  Throwing  words  to  the  cat,  ma'am.' 
1  Did  thee  say  there  was  any  news  ?  ' 

'  Not  much,'  said  Penn, — '  what  there  is  smells  mouldy. 
Dull  as  the  editor's  brains.  Commodore  Rogers  is  in, — not 
much  in  that  quarter,  neither — only  thirty  prisoners.  It 
must  have  been  a  dreadfully  moping  cruise.  But  I  say, 
where's  Harry  ?  aren't  you  frightened  to  death  about  him  ? 
Does  he  ever  stay  out  so  late  without  leaving  word  where 
he's  gone  ?  ' 

4  How  thee  does  run  on  ! '  said  Mrs.  Raynor,  who  had 
been  hurried  along  the  stream  of  Penn's  wild  and  uncjuaker- 
like  sentiments  without  chance  to  say  a  word. 

*  Where  does  thee  think  thy  tongue  will  lead  thee  some 
day,  Penn?' 

'  Into  the  house  of  some  rich  lady  I  hope,  ma'am — I 
can't  afford  to  marry  a  poor  one, — and 

<"  Whoso  stands  still, 
Go  back  he  will."' 

'  Thy  backward  steps  of  speech  will  be  few,'  said  the 
quakeress. 

'  But  now  just  see  the  state  of  things,'  said  her  nephew 


204 

'  Down-stairs  Rachel  is  endeavouring  to  stay  the  ebullition 
of  wrath' — 

'  Penn  !  bethink  thee !  '  said  his  aunt. 

— '  From  the  kettle  ma'am — at  being  kept  so  long  on 
the  fire, — there  never  was  a  quaker  teakettle  yet,  that  I  can 
find  out.  And  Master  Harry,  presuming  upon  his  impor 
tance' — 

1  Upon  what  dost  thou  presume  ?  '  said  his  cousin's  voice 
behind  him. 

'  Upon  your  absence,'  said  Penn  jumping  up.  (  Now 
then — "  Blow  winds  and  crack  your  cheeks '" — and  Boil 
teakettle  and  put  the  fire  out.' 

'  And  sit  down  Penn,  and  be  quiet — a  more  impossible 
thing  than  either.' 

'  But  how  long  since  you  entered  the  genus  felis,  felici 
tous,  and  wore  cushioned  feet  ?  '  said  Penn.  *  Sir  Brian 
might  envy  the  softness  of  your  steps.' 

'  One  can  do  a  good  deal  under  cover,'  said  Mr.  Henry. 

1  Well  I  suppose  you  don't  mean  to  do,  anything  more 
to-night,'  said  Penn.  '  Your  day's  work's  done,  isn't  it  ?  ' 

'  Yes — the  day's  work.' 

'  Thou  art  not  going  out  again  ?  '  said  the  quakeress. 

'  Yes  mother,  for  a  while.  I  have  promised  to  spend  a 
part  of  the  night  with  one  who  is  sick.' 

'  Then  the  carriage  must  go  for  thee  '  said  his  mother ; 
1  therefore  give  thine  orders.' 

*  What  do  you  plague  yourself  with  these  sick  folks  for, 
Harry  ?  '  said  Penn. 

'  Somebody  must — or  rather  somebody  ought.' 

c  But  there's  no  comfort  in  life  if  you  have  to  spend  your 
days  in  hunting  up  distressed  people,  and  your  nights  in 
watching  them,'  said  Penn,  as  he  helped  himself  to  a  pleasant 
piece  of  toast. 


e  THEE   IS   INCORRIGIBLE  ! '  205 

Tne  comfort  of  his  life,  or  rather  the  joy  of  it,  was  a 
doubtful  thing,  Mr.  Raynor  thought ;  but  he  simply  said, 

'  This  occasion  is  not  of  my  own  seeking,  Penn.' 

c  0  then  of  course.  But  what  a  good  thing  it  is  that  no 
body  ever  wants  me.  Harry,  what  a  fine  night  we  had  last 
night,  didn't  we  ?  ' 

(  How  thee  talks,  silly  child ! '  said  Mrs.  Raynor.  '  It 
rained  steadily.' 

'  Not  at  Mrs.  Clinton's  ma'am. — It  didn't  rain  anything 
there  but  champagne  and  sweet  words  and  things  of  that  sort. 
And  I  wish  you  had  heard  Harry  sing ! — he  surpassed  him 
self,  and  made  me  open  my  eyes.  Such  a  song !  Do  you 
know,  aunt,  /believe  he's  going  to  be  married.' 

'  Not  till  I  have  been  your  groomsman,'  said  Mr.  Raynor, 
while  his  mother  turned  one  quick  anxious  look  at  the  im- 
perturbably  grave  face  before  her. 

1  Ah  me  !  don't  speak  of  that,'  said  Penn. 

'  "A  silver  ladle  to  my  dish 
Is  all  I  want — is  all  I  wish  " — 

but  unless  a  man  has  the  dish,  how  can  he  ever  hope  for  the 
ladle?' 

'  Make  the  dish,  'said  his  cousin. 

'  Don't  know  how,  Harry — and  take  too  long.  Besides, 
one  wants  mettle  to  begin  with — and  I'd  rather  chase  the 
lady  than  the  dish.' 

'  Penn,  Penn — thee  is  incorrigible ! '  said  his  aunt. 
'  Does  thee  never  remember  thy  name  ?  ' 

'  0  dear  !  what  a  name  ! '  said  Penn.  l  Do  I  ever  forget 
it  ?  I  am  constantly  expecting  that  somebody  will  give  me 
the  nom  de  plume  of  Goosequill — only  I'm  not  a  writer ;  and 
certainly  the  misfortunes  and  disappointments  of  life  have 
not  cut  me  up  in  the  least.  I  do  wish  the  war  would  break 


206  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

out  here  in  New  York,  or  else  that  they'd  order  me  off  to  the 
frontiers.  A  real  good  fight  with  the  British  once  a  week, 
and  an  occasional  interlude  with  the  Indians,  would  keep  up 
a  man's  spirits  amazingly.' 

'  Hush  Penn,  you  are  wrong  to  talk  so  here,'  said  his 
cousin,  while  Mrs.  Raynor  laid  down  her  knitting  and 
sought  for  words.  '  Thought  may  be  free,  but  speech  should 
be  a  little  restrained  sometimes.' 

'  Why  does  thee  say  here  ?  '  inquired  the  Quakeress,  but 
half  pleased  at  the  mildness  of  the  reproof. 

*  My  dear  mother,  Penn  is  not  signing  his  name — he  is 
only  making  flourishes.' 

'  Can't  help  it  Harry — '  said  the  young  gentleman  in 
question, — l  you  may  write  my  epitaph  beforehand — 

"With  one  sole  Penn  I  wrote  this  book, 

Made  of  a  grey  goose  quill. 
A  Penn  it  was  when  I  it  took, 
And  a  Penn  I  leave  it  still.' " 

1  Pens  may  be  mended,'  said  his  cousin. 

{ If  you  know  how.  And  I  can't  help  it,  Harry — it's 
a — a — what  the  deuce  is  the  quaker  for  confounded ! — 
I  mean,'  said  Penn,  hurrying  on,  t  to  have  nothing  to  do 
is  a — ' 

'  A  thing  which  no  man  should  complain  of,'  said  his 
cousin.  '  I  will  give  you  something  to  do  this  very  night.' 

'  No,  pray  don't,'  said  Penn  most  unaffectedly ;  l  because 
if  you  make  me  go  with  you  I  must  go,  and  I  would  much 
rather  be  somewhere  else.  I  think  I  will  go  and  see  how 
Miss  Clyde  is  after  the  party — or  Miss  Clinton.' 

'  I  hope  thee  will  expend  all  thy  adjectives  in  the  street 
before  thee  goes  to  see  ladies,  Penn,'  said  the  quakeress. 

'  They've  got  brothers — both  of  'em,'  said  Penn  in  a  half 


THE  NIGHT'S  DECLINE.  207 

undertone.  *  But  never  fear  me,  ma'am,'  he  added  aloud. 
{ "  I'll  aggravate  my  voice  so,  that  I'll  roar  you  gently  as  a 
sucking  dove — I'll  roar  you  an  't'were  any  nightingale."  ' 

'  If  thee  will  read  play-books,'  said  the  quakeress  with 
some  displeasure,  cthee  must  not  repeat  them  here.' 

1  That's  a  study  book,'  said  Penn — '  the  boy's  first  lessons 
in  English  and  elocution.' 

'  Are  you  going  out  as  soon  as  we  have  done  tea,  Penn  ?  ' 
said  his  cousin.  '  Because  in  that  case  we  will  go  together 
so  far  as  our  roads  do.' 

*  Just  as  soon  as  I  have  satisfied  the  cravings  of  a  youth 
ful  appetite,'  replied  Mr.  Penn,  who  was  regaling  himself 
with  pluni  sweetmeats. 

*  Do  plums  never  make  thee  sick,  Penn  1 '  enquired  his 
aunt. 

'  Never  did,  ma'am — except  once  when  I  cried  for  'em,' 
replied  Mr.  Penn. 

1  And  must  thee  really  go  out  again,  Henry  ?  '  said  Mrs. 
Kaynor  as  they  left  the  table. 

1  0  yes — '  he  answered  cheerfully.  '  It  does  not  trouble 
you  to  have  me  go  mother,  if  I  can  do  anybody  any  good  ?  ' 

1  Dear  child  ! '  she  said.  '  I  wish  some  one  would  try  to 
do  thee  good.  Methiuketh  thou  art  more  grave,  Henry, 
more  silent  than  was  thy  wont.' 

'  Talked  himself  out  to  Miss  Clyde  last  night,'  suggested 
Penn,  with  a  fresh  attack  upon  the  plums. 

'  Which  did  not  befall  thee,'  said  his  cousin ;  and  turn 
ing  to  his  mother  Mr.  Raynor  spoke  a  quieting  word  or  two 
and  left  the  room. 

The  night  had  worn  away  to  its  decline,  and  the  spread 
of  stars  was  wheeling  westward,  where  the  moon  had  long 
since  gone  down,  when  Mr.  Henry  gave  up  his  place  to 
another  watcher  and  left  the,  sick  room,  followed  by  the 


208  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

heart's  blessing  of  its  poor  tenant.  Body  and  mind  had 
profited  by  his  ministrations ;  and  that  night  had  shed 
heaven's  own  dew  upon  one  soul,  long  shrivelled  beneath 
the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day,  contracted  and  deadened 
with  the  drought  of  all  comfort,  and  covered  with  the  world's 
dust. 

With  the  strong  feeling  of  the  scene  upon  him,  Mr. 
Raynor  got  into  his  carriage  and  passed  rapidly  along  the 
silent  streets ;  thinking  of  their  busy  inhabitants — hurrying 
even  in  sleep  across  the  bridge  of  life,  and  one  by  one  drop 
ping  through  its  many  pitfalls,  to  be  seen  no  more  till  the 
sea  shall  give  up  its  dead.  How  dim  and  visionary  earth 
seems  from  the  banks  of  the  Jordan;  as  the  mists  of  that 
river  of  death  which  once  hung  like  a  thick  curtain  before 
the  gate  of  the  Celestial  City,  now  roll  off  behind  the  pil 
grim,  and  rest  upon  the  kingdoms  of  this  world  and  the 
glory  of  them  !  And  what  was  any  other  work,  to  the  one 
purpose  and  endeavour  '  that  by  any  means  he  might  save 
some.' 

His  thoughts  flew  to  another  person  who  he  knew 
thought  and  felt  with  him — yet  to  her  practice  it  was  hard 
to  reconcile  himself  in  all  respects.  Mr.  Raynor  threw 
himself  into  the  other  corner  of  the  carriage,  and  watched 
for  so  much  sight  of  her  as  the  outside  of  her  house  could 
give. 

A  bright  light  met  his  gaze.  Not  the  halo  with  which 
his  fancy  always  invested  her,  but  a  red  flickering  glare  that 
it  was  hard  to  locate  precisely,  in  the  uncertain  black  of 
the  night,  though  it  was  in  the  direction  of  the  Clyde  house  ; 
and  now  he  noticed  that  bells  were  ringing,  and  that  the 
men  hurrying  along  the  streets  stopped  from  time  to  time  to 
pick  up  the  fire-buckets  which  the  startled  sleepers  left  their 
beds  to  throw  out. 


THE    RED    BLAZE.  209 

Mr.  Raynor  left  his  carriage,  and  choosing  some  point 
beyond  the  scene  of  action  where  Caleb  Williams  might 
await  his  coming,  he  mingled  with  the  crowd  and  went  on  afoot. 
Among  the  crowd  but  faster  than  they, — the  mind  giving 
winged  spurs  which  carried  him  on  beyond  all  that  ran  for 
profit  or  duty  or  fun ;  making  his  way  spirit-like,  without 
jostling  or  being  jostled,  and  with  unconscious  care  eschew 
ing  every  possible  hindrance  or  delay.  One  point  he  soon 
made  sure — the  fire  was  not  in  Thornton's  house  but  opposite; 
and  changing  his  course  for  the  freer  space  of  a  cross  street, 
Mr.  Raynor  made  a  slight  circuit  and  admitted  himself  by 
a  side  door.  It  was  open  of  course,  for  the  firemen  had  free 
passage  to  every  house  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  after  a 
word  to  the  policeman  on  duty  he  entered  the  hall. 

1  Bless  you,  Mr.  Raynor  ! '  said  Martha  Jumps,  who  was 
taking  care  of  any  article  she  could  find,  not  very  careful 
what  that  might  be ;  '  did  you  ever  hear  whether  pillows  go 
safe,  packed  in  teacups  ? — I  mean  ! — I'm  at  the  end  of  my 
wits ! — And  there's  the  hearthrugs.  How  did  you  ever 
come  to  get  here  at  this  identical  minute  and  everything  in 
a  blaze  ? — 0  she's  in  the  back  parlour  and  we're  packing  up.' 

In  that  fiercely  lighted  room,  the  red  glare  dancing  upon 
wall  and  ceiling  like  a  thing  possessed,  the  cries  of  the 
throng  outside  inspired  by  the  firemen's  trumpets,  the  dash 
of  water  upon  window  and  door,  the  loud  tramp  of  men 
through  the  hall,  and  with  no  better  guard  than  a  knot  of 
firemen,  he  found  her — like  a  quiet  spirit  beneath  the  j3Egis 
of  trust. 

At  the  moment  when  Mr.  Raynor  entered  the  room, 
water  and  smoke  were  for  a  time  triumphant,  and  the  sud 
den  darkening  almost  prevented  his  finding  her ;  but  a  word 
or  two  which  she  spoke  to  some  one  else  had  brought  him  tc 
her  side  before  the  red  blaze  again  sprang  forth.  Her  at 


210  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPEE. 

tention  was  fixed  upon  Hulda,  who  now  hid  her  eyes  in  hei 
sister's  neck,  and  then  as  by  some  strange  fascination  opened 
them  long  enough  to  give  one  fearful  look  towards  the  front 
windows  and  about  the  room ;  but  never  .moving  her  arms 
from  the  one  to  whom  she  looked  for  safety  on  all  occasions. 
At  the  first  sound  of  her  friend's  voice  however,  Hulda 
started  up,  and  stretching  out  her  arms  to  him  she  sobbed 
out, 

I  Won't  you  please  take  us  home,  Mr.  Raynor  ?  because 
Thornton  isn't  here,  and  I'm  so  frightened.'     And  she  was 
instantly  in  a  new  resting-place. 

'  Will  you  persuade  your  sister  to  come,  Hulda? ' 

*  0  yes,  she'll  come,'  said  the  child,  whose  little  heart 
was  beating  quieter  already  for  the  strong  hand  laid  upon  it. 
<  Won't  you,  Rosalie  ?  ' 

But  Rosalie  did  not  answer ;  for.  something  in  Hulda's 
salutation,  or  in  the  way  it  was  met,  or  in  the  sudden  relief 
she  felt,  let  not  word  and  thought  work  together. 

'  Won't  you,  Alie  ? '  she  repeated,  stretching  her  little 
face  down  towards  her  sister,  but  by  no  means  loosing  her 
hold  of  Mr.  Raynor. 

I 1  will  let   you   go,  love,  very  thankfully.     Hulda  has 
kept  me  prisoner  here,'  she  said,  '  so  that  I  could  do  noth 
ing.' 

£  And  I  am  come  to  put  you  in  closer  ward.  I  shall  not 
think  you  safe  until  my  mother  has  charge  of  you.' 

1  Take  Hulda  if  you  please,  Mr.  Raynor,  but  I  am  not 
in  the  least  afraid.  Perhaps  we  shall  have  no  more  disturb 
ance,  and  if — at  all  events  I  am  better  here.'. 

'  I  shall  not  go  until  you  do,'  said  he  quietly. 

Rosalie  hesitated  and  again  repeated  her  request. 

'  There  are  some  things  here  that  would  need  my  atten 
tion  if  the  fire  should  cross  the  street — I  had  better  not  go> 


MORE   LIGHT   ON   THE   SUBJECT.  211 

If  you  will  only  take  Hulda  away  where  she  will  be  safe 
and  uiifrightened,  I  will  thank  you  very  much.' 

1  You  will  not  thank  me,  for  I  shall  not  go.'  he  said  with 
a  slight  smile  which  by  no  means  helped  her  irresolution. 
1  Your  being  frightened  is  I  suppose  of  no  matter,  but  who 
shall  assure  me  that  you  will  be  safe  ? — I  do  not  want  to  be 
frightened  myself.'  And  wrapping  Hulda  more  closely  in 
her  shawl,  he  added,  c  I  shall  wait  for  you, — therefore  please 
Miss  Rosalie  give  your  orders  as  soon  as  may  be,  and  let  us 
be  off  before  we  have  any  more  light  on  the  subject.  Then 
will  I  come  back  and  see  your  brother  and  do  anything  you 
want  done.' 

The  roof  of  the  burning  house  fell  in  as  he  spoke ;  and 
though  the  brilliant  light  soon  darkened  again,  they  saw  that 
the  fire  was  walking  along  the  block  with  no  tardy  step,  and 
the  engines  redoubled  their  play  upon  the  front  windows. 

1  Make  haste,  dear  Alie  ! '  said  little  Hulda,  again  hiding 
her  eyes  from  the  sight. 

*  Hulda,'  said  her  friend,  c  will  you  let  me  put  you  in  the 
carriage  first,  and  will  you  stay  there  while  I  come  back  for 
your  sister  ?  7 

'  Who  is  in  the  carriage  ?  '  said  Hulda,  raising  her  head 
to  look  at  him. 

1  Caleb  Williams  is  there  with  the  horses.' 

'  The  man  in  the  grey  coat  ? '  said  Hulda. 

'  Yes.  You  would  not  be  afraid  to  stay  with  him  for 
five  minutes  ?  ' 

'  No,'  said  Hulda  laying  her  head  down  again.  '  Not  if 
you  want  me  to.' 

And  her  friend  carried  her  out.  It  was  well  he  had  but 
one  to  take  care  of.  The  way  to  the  carriage  was  not  long, 
but  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  pass  through  the  crowd.  At 
least  with  his  hands  so  full — the  way  back  was  much  quicker, 
but  confusion  had  thickened  inside  the  house. 


212 

'  Gracious  me  !  Tom  Skiddy,'  said  Martha  as  she  knelt, 
in  the  hall ;  '  do  you  suppose  folks  has  no  feelings  because 
the  house  is  afire  ?  ' 

'  Ha'n't  got  time  to  suppose,'  said  Tom,  as  he  went  up 
three  stairs  at  a  time  on  some  errand  for  his  mistress. 

'  And  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how  a  person  can  pack  with 
men  flying  over  their  heads  at  that  rate,'  said  Martha. 
'  And  the  Captain  away  too — it's  a  miracle  houses  can't  catch 
when  people  are  home.' 


'  Where  is  Miss  Rosalie,  Martha  ? 


1  My  ! — She  aint  in  this  basket,  Mr.  Raynor — if  that's 
what  you  mean.  Like  enough  she's  up  in  the  skylight — it's 
a  firstrate  place  to  look  at  fires,  if  you  can  get  the  first 
chance.  Pretty  good  powers  of  come  and  go  !  '  said  Martha 
to  herself,  as  the  young  gentleman  went  up  stairs  much  after 
the  example  of  Tom  Skiddy.  '  If  he's  one  third  more  of  a 
witch,  he  can  take  a  flying  leap  with  her  out  of  the  window. 

Rosalie  was  up-stairs,  quietly  giving  directions  to  Tom 
and  the  firemen, — they,  swarthy,  smoky,  black-capped  and 
red-shirted  figures, — she  in  one  of  the  wrappers  which 
Thornton  admired  so  much, — delicate,  white-handed ;  and 
white-cheeked  too,  for  that  matter,  with  the  fatigue  of  ex 
citement. 

'  If  you  have  any  doubts  left,'  Mr.  Raynor  said  as  he  ap 
proached  her,  '  I  will  resolve  them.  You  are  not  responsi 
ble  for  being  carried  off  against  your  will.  And  I  cannot  let 
you  have  any  more  time  here.  These  things  shall  be  cared 
for,  but  you  first.' 

And  before  Rosalie  could  attempt  any  organized  plan  of 
resistance  it  was  too  late, — she  was  out  of  the  house  and 
passing  through  the  crowd,  and  then  in  the  carriage  by 
Hulda.  Or  rather  by  her  conductor,  for  Hulda  had  taken 
her  old  place  on  Mr.  Raynor's  lap,  and  they  were  driving 


(THOU   DEAR   CHILD!'  213 

rapidly  away.  In  two  minutes  Hulda  was  asleep  ;  nor  did 
she  give  other  note  of  the  change  than  a  sigh,  when  Mr. 
Raynor  laid  her— a  softly  breathing  and  sleeping  little 
figure,  upon  the  sofa  in  the  library  at  the  '  Quakerage.'  He 
stayed  only  to  place  Rosalie  in  an  easychair  at  her  side,  be 
fore  he  sprang  up  stairs. 

Rosalie  felt  in  a  kind  of  maze, — so  swiftly  had  the  last 
hour  sunk  down,  and  the  little  heap  of  sand  seemed  of  such 
strange  particles.  She  looked  about  her.  The  room  shewed 
no  trace  of  modern  things — unless  the  flowers  deserved  that 
name — and  the  fire  which  had  evidently  been  lately  replen 
ished,  shone  upon  oak  and  black  walnut  embrowned  with 
exposure  to  the  light  of  a  century.  It  rose  and  fell  once 
or  twice,  flickering  fantastically  about,  and  then  a  quick  step 
was  on  the  stairs  and  her  dream  vanished.  And  immedi 
ately  she  heard  a  door  open  and  the  words, 

'  Henry  Raynor  !  thee  is  not  going  out  again  ?  Thee 
must  not ! ' 

He  stopped  and  spoke  a  word  or  two,  but  Rosalie  did 
not  hear  his  answer ;  and  in  a  moment  the  front  door  opened 
and  closed.  In  another  moment  Mrs.  Raynor  was  in  the 
library. 

'  Thou  dear  child  ! '  she  said.  '  How  glad  I  am  to  see 
thee  !  how  glad  to  have  anything  bring  thee  here.  Sit  thee 
still,  child.' 

'  And  how  sorry  I  am  to  do  anything  to  give  you  any 
trouble,'  said  Rosalie  as  she  returned  her  friend's  greeting. 

'  Trouble  ?  bless  thee,'  said  the  good  Quakeress,  { I  would 
I  could  keep  thee  here  always  !  Wilt  thou  be  persuaded  to 
stay  ? '  she  added  anxiously,  bending  down  to  look  at  the 
sweet  face  that  was  looking  up  at  her. 

But  Rosalie's  eyes  fell  again,  and  she  shook  her  head. 
The  quakeress  stood  gently  smoothing  down  her  hair. 


214  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  Well  love,  thee  knows  best,'  she  said.  '  But  now  come 
away  to  bed,  and  trouble  not  thyself  about  thy  house — 
Henry  has  gone  back  to  see  that  all  be  done.' 

'  0  I  am  very  sorry !     He  should  not  have  gone  ! ' 

'  None  could  hinder  him — not  even  thou,'  said  the  qua- 
keress  smiling.  '  He  thought  thy  brother  might  return 
— and  Henry  knows  thou  art  a  thing  to  be  asked  for.  But 
come,  love,  and  trouble  not  thy  mind  about  anything.' 

Rosalie  carried  her  little  charge  to  Mrs.  Raynor's  dress 
ing  room,  and  covered  her  up  on  the  sofa  there  ;  and  when 
Mrs.  Raynor  had  left  her  she  sat  down  on  a  low  seat  by 
Hulda,  and  laying  her  head  on  the  same  sofa  cushion  she 
fell  asleep,  with  the  first  streaks  of  daylight  falling  across 
her  face. 


THE   HOKNING.  215 


CHAPTER    XXL 

Come,  says  Puss,  without  any  more  ado,  'tis  time  to  go  to  breakfast  ;  cats  don't 
live  upon  dialogues.— 


THE  morning  rose  fair  and  still,  with  that  ever  fresh  look 
from  a  night's  repose,  full  of  hope,  promise,  and  expectation. 
As  yet  that  day  and  the  world  had  not  come  in  contact  ; 
and  with  a  child's  eye  the  morning  looked  at  the  dark  city 
beneath  —  wondering  and  fearless.  At  present  all  lay  peace 
fully  quiet,  and  the  early  light  found  no  cause  of  complaint 
except  that  it  could  not  see  everything.  Would  ever  drops 
lie  heavier  than  the  morning  dew?  could  there  ever  be 
darkness  which  the  risen  sun  should  not  dispel  ? 

As  yet  the  morning  glanced  only  at  the  chimneys  with 
their  upward  curls  of  household  smoke,  —  at  the  tall  steeples 
that  stood  like  finger-posts  to  the  Celestial  City,  lest  any 
man  should  think  the  way  lay  near  earth's  level.  At  these 
—  but  most  of  all  at  the  sunrise  clouds,  with  their  bewitch 
ing  shapes  and  colours,  —  those  castles  in  the  air  at  which 
so  many  days  have  looked  ;  to  see  some  swept  away  by  the 
strong  wind  of  circumstance,  and  some  dried  up  at  mid-day 
and  some  to  pour  down  their  artillery  upon  all  beneath. 

So  comes  the  morning  with  its  first  look,  and  the  noon 
with  its  clear-sightedness  that  burns  as  fire,  and  dries  up  all 
springs  not  fed  by  the  fountain  of  living  waters  and  sha- 


216  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

dowed  by  the  Great  Rock ;  and  so  man  goeth  forth  unto 
his  work  until  the  evening — with  its  weariness,  its  repose, 
its  hope  of  a  better  clay. 

"  These  all  died  in  faith." 

"  I  desire  grace  and  patience,"  says  Samuel  Rutherford, 
"  to  wait  on,  and  to  lie  upon  the  brink,  till  the  water  fill  and 
flow.  I  know  he  is  fast  coming." 

No  such  thoughts  accompanied  Thornton  Clyde  in  his 
morning  walk  to  Mrs.  Raynor's.  He  had  promised  t%  come 
there  to  breakfast  for  certain  good  reasons  not  very  well 
known  to  himself  5  and  now  in  fulfilment  of  the  promise  he 
walked  leisurely  along — -for  it  was  yet  early.  He  had  visited 
the  scene  of  last  night's  bonfire,  looked  at  the  smoking  ruins 
of  the  destroyed  houses,  and  at  the  blackened  and  defaced 
appearance  of  his  own  ;  and  had  stood  musingly  about  the 
spot  until  the  city  tide-gates  were  opened,  and  its  popula 
tion  poured  forth.  Thornton  stayed  until  a  half  dozen  boys 
had  come  to  the  ruin,  to  pick  up  nails  and  charred  wood ; 
and  then  turning  away  with  a  feeling  of  disgust  he  walked 
swiftly  on. 

I  say  no  such  thoughts  possessed  him, — and  yet  the 
blackened  home  with  its  destroyed  surroundings  looked  too 
out  of  keeping  with  the  fresh  beauty  of  the  day,  not  to  stir 
up  some  bitter  fountain  within  him.  A  fountain  that  mur 
mured  of  lost  precious  things  ;  while  the  water  in  its  basin 
gave  back  pictures  that  he  had  no  wish  to  see  nor  remember. 
Thornton  walked  faster  and  faster. 

'Will  you  tell  Miss  Clyde  that  her  brother  is  here  ? '  he 
said,  when  James  Hoxton  and  he  had  brought  their  very 
different  qualities  to  bear  upon  each  other. 

{  Truly  friend,  I  think  not,'  replied  the  quaker  with  a 
cool  survey.  *  It  may  well  chance  that  thou  shalt  see  her 
first.  She  hath  not  yet  arisen.' 


THE  SUNBEAMS  AT  FAULT.         217 

And  leading  the  way  into  the  library  James  Hoxton 
gave  a  grave  and  sagacious  kick  to  the  fire,  and  left  the 
room. 

Thornton  thought  to  himself  that  one  of  last  night's 
events  would  have  been  quite  enough  for  -him  without  the 
other.  That  to  have  either  sister  or  house  spirited  away 
was  as  much  as  a  man  could  reasonably  expect  upon  one 
occasion ;  yet  here  they  were  both.  Rosalie  established 
among  the  quakers,  and  the  house  made  uninhabitable. 
Moreover  he  was  at  Mr.  Raynor's  himself — gloomily  stand 
ing  before  the  library  fire, — a  thing  the  sunbeams  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with.  They  played  about  a  shawl  which 
lay  on  the  sofa,  in  a  kind  of  loving  way  as  if  they  rejoiced  to 
see  it  there — which  Thornton  did  not.  It  was  Rosalie's 
shawl,  lying  just  where  she  had  thrown  it  off  the  night  be 
fore,  and  looking  as  her  brother  fancied,  just  like  her.  Why  was 
it  there  ?  and  why  did  he  dislike  to  see  it  ?  Thornton  felt 
as  if  his  canary  bird's  cage  was  broke,  and  she  away  in  her 
natural  element.  From  a  rather  vexed  mood  he  went  off 
into  one  more  softened  and  befitting  the  subject,  which  held 
him  till  Penn  Raynor  came  to  take  its  place. 

*  Curious  coincidence,  wasn't   it  ? '  said    Penn,  with   a 
happy  choice  of  subject. 

'  What  ?  '  said  Thornton. 

*  Why — '    said    Penn, — '  that  is,    I   was   thinking    how 
Harry  happened  to  come  by  your  house  just  when  it  took 
fire.' 

1  He  did  not — unfortunately  for  your  coincidence.' 

{  0  then  I  misunderstood,'  said  Penn.     '  But  he  came  by 

when  he  did — I  suppose  you  won't  deny  that ;  and  I  say  it 

was  lucky,  wasn't  it  ?  ' 

'  I  must  be  excused  for  having  a  keener  perception  of  the 

night's  evils  than  of  its  benefits,'  said  Thornton. 
10 


218  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  I  declare,'  said  Penn  laughing, c  the  fire  has  done  its 
work  upon  you  ! — mere  ashes  and  piecrust — a  remainder 
biscuit — or  anything  of  that  sort.  Not  a  drop  of  the  milk 
of  human  kindness  left. — The  Clyde  runs  dry  this  morning.' 

What  sort  of  a  reply  Thornton  might  have  made  is  un 
certain,  for  the  master  of  the  house  came  in ;  and  claiming 
Mr.  Clyde's  attention  by  a  hand  laid  on  his  shoulder  and  by 
his  pleasant  greeting  and  welcome,  forced  the  young  man 
into  at  least  outside  politeness.  Not  the  true  polish  of  the 
wood,  but  varnish  ;  and  very  susceptible  of  scratches. 

I  You  are  standing  here,'  Mr.  Raynor  said,  *  as  if  you 
were  tired  of  rest — or  despised  it — which  ? ' 

{ I  am  not  apt  to  take  rest  at  this  time  in  the  morning,' 
replied  Thornton. 

'  Not  such  as  a  chair  can  give  ?  ' 

I 1  can  tell  you,'  put  in  Penn,  t  that  you  will  gain  nothing 
by  your  attempts  in  that  quarter.     For  all  the  world  like 
the   Dead  Sea  apples, — looks  well  enough  but  don't  taste 
good.' 

*  How  long  is  it  since  you  turned  cannibal,  Penn  ?  '  said 
his  cousin.  l  Has  the  want  of  breakfast  enraged  your 
appetite  to  that  degree  ? ' 

'.Sure  enough,'  said  Penn,  'what  has  become  of  break 
fast?' 

'  I  have  just  learned,'  said  Mr.  Raynor  looking  towards 
his  guest,  '  that  we  must  wait  yet  a  little  longer.' 

'  You  have  delayed  it  to  favour  my  sleepy  sisters  ?  '  said 
Thornton. 

(  Not  I — '  said  Mr.  Raynor.  { My  oversight  of  the 
household  is  in  a  spmewhat  different  line.' 

'  But  lines  cross  occasionally.' 

1  His  does,'  said  Penn, — '  isn't  a  line  in  the  house  it  don't 
touch  somewhere. ' 


THE  KEAL  HALO  AND  THE  IDEAL.     219 

'  Lines  may  touch  without  entanglement,'  said  Mr. 
Raynor.  '  The  many  tinted  members  of  the  light  make  but 
one  white  ray  of  beauty  and  usefulness.' 

'  At  that  rate,'  said  Thornton,  '  each  member  of  a  family 
is  incomplete  without  the  rest.' 

*  No,  but  the  family  is  incomplete  without  each  member.' 

(  How  full  of  brilliancy  you  would  make  the  world  to  be,' 
said  Thornton  somewhat  scornfully. 

'  The  world  does  not  make  itself  so,  if  I  do,'  was  the 
quiet  reply.  '  Those  people  who  shine  with  a  clear  and  un 
mixed  light  are  rare.' 

1  Rare  ! — I  should  like  to  see  one  ! ' 

Mr.  Raynor  smiled,  and  Thornton's  memory  quickly  cor 
rected  itself. 

1  Did  you  ever  take  notice,'  said  Mr.  Raynor  as  gravely 
as  before,  *  how  beautifully  the  ideal  halo  of  the  old  painters  is 
sometimes  borne  out  ?  They  put  a  visible  glory  about  their 
saints ;  and  I  think  you  may  see  a  glory  around  the  heads 
of  some  saints  that  do  walk  this  earth.  Or  as  in  Bunyan's 
portrait  of  a  gospel  minister,  where  a  "  crown  of  gold  did 
hang  over  his  head." — "  And  they  that  sat  in  the  council, 
looking  steadfastly  on  Stephen,  saw  his  face  as  it  had  been  the 
face  of  an  angel !  "  ' 

Thornton  had  seen  enough  to  verify  the  remark,  though 
he  did  not  say  so,  and  silence  followed,  until  the  door  of  the 
library  opened  softly  to  admit  little  Hulda.' 

'  Here  comes  one  little  ray,'  said  her  friend  turning 
round. 

*  What  is  a  little  ray  ?  '  said  Hulda,  whose  greeting  of 
the  two  gentlemen  was  meant  to  be  strictly  impartial. 

1  A  little  ray  is  a  very,  very  little  piece  of  a  sunbeam.' 
Hulda  laughed,  and  keeping  hold  of  his  hand  she  stood 

leaning  her  little  face  against  it,  and  making  grave  remarks 

upon  various  subjects. 


220  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  Isn't  it  pleasant  here,  Thornton?  0  Mr.  Raynor  !  I 
didn't  wake  up  once  after  you  put  us  in  the  carriage  last 
night,  and  this  morning  I  didn't  know  where  I  was  at  first. 
0  there's  the  cat !  Pussy  !  pussy  ! — see  Thornton,  what 
a  nice  cat.' 

*  Where  is  your  sister  ?  '  was  Thornton's  response. 

'  O  she's  coming  right  down,  and  so  is  Mrs.  Raynor. 
But  you  see  Rosalie  was  awake  last  night,  and  so — pussy ! 
pussy  ! ' 

'  And  so  she  slept  this  morning  ?  ' 

*  What  an  unconscionable  creature  you  are,  Thornton  ! ' 
said   Mr.  Penn  emerging  from  the  newspaper.     *  Routing 
Miss  Clyde  out  of  bed  at  any  time  of  day,  when  she's  been 
burnt  out  over  night.     I  should  think  she'd  run  away  from 
you,  if  that's  your  prevailing  temper  and  disposition.' 

'  Should  you  ?  '  said  Thornton  drily. 

'  Yes  I  should,'  said  Penn.  '  I  should  do  it  too,  if  any 
body  asked  me  to  get  up  in  the  morning — if  I  was  a  woman. 
Because  they  haven't  the  resource -of  knocking  people  down 
as  men  have.' 

'  But  she  is  up,'  said  Hulda,  '  and  coming  down.' 

And  there  she  came — not  looking  as  if  the  morning  had 
paid  off  the  night ;  though  the  colour  came  back  a  little 
when  she  first  met  her  brother,  and  then  from  his  side  shook 
hands  with  Mr.  Raynor  and  answered  his  grave  enquiries. 
Thornton  felt  very  proud  of  her.  So  did  Hulda;  and 
looked  from  Rosalie  up  to  Mr.  Raynors  face  without  in  the 
least  knowing  what  an  appeal  she  brought,  nor  how  readily 
it  was  answered. 

'  Well,'  Thornton  said,  when  they  had  exchanged  a  few 
words  about  the  last  night's  work  ;  '  and  what  are  you  going 
to  do  with  yourself  now-?  ' 
.     l  Stay  here  until  I  know  your  plans.' 


A   LITTLE    LIKE   A    SHADOW.  221 

1  And  then  ?  ' 

'  Do  as  a  shadow  does — '  she  said,  raising  her  bright 
eyes  to  his. 

'  You  are  a  little  like  a  shadow,'  Thornton  said  with  a 
sobering  face,  as  his  arm  went  round  her  and  felt  what  a 
slight  creature  was  within  its  clasp.  '  We  were  comparing 
you  just  now  to  something  about  as  unsubstantial,  though 
rather  more  bright.' 

1  Were  you  ? '  said  Penn — '  it  passes  my  wits  to  find  out 
what.  I  do  assure  you  Miss  Clyde,  they  talked  of  nothing 
but  breakfast  and  rays  of  light — 0  yes,  I  believe  Harry 
did  speak  of  an  angel.' 

'  And  I  never  spoke  the  name  of  any  friend  of  mine  in 
such  a  commonplace  connection,'  said  Mr.  Raynor  quickly. 

'  Connection  ?  '  said  Mr.  Penn  turning  over  the  news 
paper, — '  it  is  rather  a  far  off  connection,  and  commonplace, 
as  you  say.  That's  the  difficulty  of  running  to  the  top  of 
the.  language  at  once — then  you've  nothing  to  do  but  come 
down — which  is  the  reverse  of  climactick. ' 

'  Thornton  Clyde,'  said  Mrs.  Raynor  as  she  came  in, 
*  thee  is  almost  as  welcome  as  thy  sister.  But  does  thee 
hold  her  so  tight  always  ?  ' 

'"We  be  all  honest  men  here — we  be  no  thieves,'" 
soliloquised  Mr.  Penn  from  the  recesses  of  his  armchair  and 
paper. 

£  Penn,'  said  his  aunt,  '  I  pray  thee  to  use  fitting  lan 
guage.' 

'  Certainly  ma'am,'  said  Penn, — <  if  I  could  attain  that 
desirable  point  I  should  be  most  happy.  But  I've  tried  two 
or  three  kinds  and  they  don't  any  of  'em  fit.  And  #s  that 
respectable  author  whom  I  just  quoted  is  supposed  to  have 
universal  powers  of  adaptation ' 

'  Can  thee  be  quiet  now  for  a  time  ?  '  said  the  quakeress. 


222 

< 

1  Just  let  me  tell  Miss  Clyde  about  the  old  woman  that 
spoke  in  meeting,  first,'  said  Penn  jumping  up.  'Miss  Clyde, 
this  old  woman  was  unfortunate  enough  to  lose  command  of 
her  tongue  in  church — as  I  do  occasionally  out  of  it ' — 

'  Thee  cannot  well  lose  what  thee  never  had,'  said  the 
quakeress. 

'  The  fruit  of  her  efforts  was  that  she  became  dumb, 
however,'  said  Penn — c  which  illustrious  example  I  shall 
immediately  follow.  "  Mum,  mum,  without  a  plum."  ' 

Mr.  liaynor  prevented  all  strictures  upon  this  speech  by 
ringing  the  bell ;  and  such  of  the  servants  as  scruples  would 
permit,  came  in  and  took  their  seats.  But  Thornton  stood 
motionless ;  and  though  when  his  sister  had  placed  her  chair 
near  him,  and  Hulda  climbing  into  her  lap  had  assumed  the 
most  comfortable  position  possible,  he  felt  half  inclined  to 
join  the  group, — something  withheld;  and  he  remained 
standing  while  the  chapter  was  read,  and  the  prayer  uttered 
from  a  full  heart,  that  they  all  might  be  "kept  by  the  power 
of  God,  through  faith  unto  salvation."  '  Was  it  for  him? — 
had  he  any  part  in  it? 

From  one  hasty  glance  at  the  speaker,  a  glance  in  which 
his  old  prejudice  melted  away  very  fast,  Thornton's  eyes 
came  back  to  Rosalie's  bowed  head  ;  on  which  the  sunbeams 
rested  with  no  fear  of  defilement.  Not  words  could  speak 
the  mind's  enwrapped  earnestness  as  did  every  line  of  her 
figure.  It  was  his  guardian  angel,  there  at  his  side,  and 
praying  for  him.  And  not  Hulda's  little  arms  were  twined 
closer  about  her  than  was  Thornton's  heart,  as  the  witness- 
bearing  drops  rose  up  into  his  eyes,  and  he  brushed  them 
away  that  he  might  see  the  clearer.  But  when  they  arose 
from  their  knees  he  stood  there  as  before,  grave  and  un 
moved. 

They  gathered  thoughtfully  about  the  fire  in  silence  for 


ANYWHERE    BUT    SIDE   BY    SIDE.  223 

a  few  minutes ;  the  mind  yet  borne  up  on  those  spirit  wings 
with  which  it  had  been  soaring,  the  heart  yet  swelling  with 
its  last  petition.  Even  Thornton  and  Penn  Raynor  were 
quiet,  against  their  will;  and  when  Hulda  slipped  away  from 
Rosalie's  side,  and  stooping  down  on  the  rug  began  to  stroke 
the  cat, — her  little  hand  went  softly  from  head  to  tail,  and 
the  knight's  loud  responsive  purr  was  rather  startling.  At 
last  Hulda  looked  up. 

'  Mr.  Raynor,  I  think  the  cat's  very  hungry.' 

'  I  doubt  it  exceedingly,'  said  her  friend  sitting  down  by 
her.  '  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  ' 

'  Because  just  now  she  looked  up  at  me  and  mewed.' 

c  By  that  rule  you  must  be  hungry  too,'  said  Mr.  Raynor. 

(  Why  I  didn't  mew,'  said  Hulda  laughing. 

He  smiled,  and  clearing  a  place  for  his  lips  on  her  fore 
head,  told  her  she  might  be  as  hungry  as  she  pleased,  for 
that  breakfast  was  now  ready.  And  as  if  he  meant  to  claim 
his  full  prerogative  as  host,  Mr.  Raynor  gave  no  one  else  a 
chance  to  take  Rosalie  to  the  breakfast-room.  An  arrange 
ment  to  which  Thornton  submitted  with  small  inward  gra- 
ciousness ;  only  consoling  himself  with  its  banishment  of 
what  traces  of  fatigue  the  night  had  left  on  her  cheeks,  and  the 
quick  return  there  of  the  exiles  of  the  House  of  Lancaster. 
But  if  he  could  have  had  his  will  as  he  walked  along  behind 
her,  Rosalie's  hand  would  have  been  quickly  dislodged  from 
its  resting  place,  and  she  and  her  companion  put  anywhere 
in  the  world  but  side  by  side.  Thornton  was  even  jealous 
of  the  very  light  hold  her  hand  seemed  to  have, — why  could 
she  not  take  his  arm  as  she  would  that  of  any  one  else  ? 

As  for  Hulda,  she  was  beholden  to  Mr.  Penn's  good 
offices  ;  but  though  she  laughed  very  much  as  he  danced 
with  her  along  the  hall,  in  her  private  mind  she  preferred  a 
quieter  rate  of  progress ;  and  quite  agreed  with  Mrs.  Ray- 
nor's  remark, 


224 

• 

1  Perm,  thee  does  make  an  astonishing  noise.' 

'  Very  glad  if  it  astonishes  any  one,  ma'am,'  said  Penn. 

'  But  see !  if  thee  upsets  the  coffee  pot  the  cat  may  be 
scalded,'  said  the  quakeress  with  a  mild  reprehension  of 
flourishes. 

1  Wouldn't  accompany  Sir  Brian  into  hot  water  for  much 
greater  fun  than  the  overthrow  of  the  coffee  pot,  ma'am,' 
said  Penn. 

1  Thornton  Clyde,'  said  Mrs.  Raynor,  '  thee  had  better  all 
stay  here  until  thy  plans  are  formed.' 

Thornton  expressed  his  thanks,  and  a  polite  assurance 
that  his  plans  were  in  the  last  state  of  forwardness. 

'  Then  stay  until  you  are  quite  ready  to  carry  them  out,' 
said  the  master  of  the  house. 

'  My  staying  here  would  effectually  prevent  their  being 
carried  out,  Mr.  Raynor.' 

'  And  cannot  thee  leave  thy  sister,  then  ?  '  said  the  qua 
keress  with  a  wistful  look  at  Rosalie. 

4  My  sisters  ma'am,'  said  Thornton  with  some  emphasis, 
*  must  decide  for  themselves.' 

'  My  dear  Miss  Clyde !  '  said  Penn  Raynor,  c  if  you  will 
only  take  up  your  abode  in  this  house  you  will  lay  me  under 
everlasting  obligations.' 

'  I  will  not  run  such  a  risk,'  said  Rosalie, — 1 1  shall  cer 
tainly  go  at  once.' 

*  No   but — dear  me  ! '   said    Penn,    ( I'm   sure  I  didn't 
mean — that  is  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  insinuate — At  least 
I  haven't  the  least  idea  what  I  did  insinuate,  but  I  didn't 
mean  to  discompose  anybody.' 

'  Thee  talks  a  little  too  fast,  either  to  know  what  thee 
means  or  to  say  it,  Penn,'  said  his  aunt. 

*  But  ever^ody  must  know  what  I  mean,'  said  Penn, — 
at  least  Harry  ought,  for  I've  talked  to  him  about  it  dozens 

of  times.' 


C0   SHE   WOULD   BE   VERY   CONTENTED.'         225 

1  Mother,'  said  Mr.  Henry  Raynor,  { here  is  little  Hulda 
waiting  with  all  patience  for  some  kind  hand  to  give  her  a 
glass  of  milk,  and  Miss  Rosalie's  cup  is  in  like  need  of  at 
tention.  If  you  know  what,  you  mean,  Penn,  you  had  better 
inform  us ;  for  Mr.  Clyde  at  least,  is  perfectly  in  the  dark.' 

'  Is  it  possible  ?  '  said  Penn, — why  it's  as  clear  as  day 
light.' 

'  As  it  was  to  the  little  boy  who  his  father  might  be,  in 
your  favourite  story,'  said  Mr.  Raynor. 

'  Yes,  that  is  my  favourite  story,  certainly,'  said  Penn. 
*  It's  so  hard  to  explain  things  that  people  ought  to  under 
stand  without  explanation.' 

'  You  must  try  for  once,  Penn,'  said  his  cousin  smiling. 
1 1  am  afraid  you  are  one  of  the  things.' 

c  Never  shall  believe  it  without  better  evidence,'  replied 
Mr.  Penn. 

Rosalie  laughed  and  Thornton  confessed  he  was  in  the 
condition  of  the  storekeeper. 

<  "Why — '  said  Penn, '  if  you'll  stay  here  Miss  Clyde,  I, 
as  being  a  noisy  member  of  society  should  at  once  depart ; 
and  if  I  were  sent  off  to  seek  my  fortune  maybe  it  would 
come.  Not  that  I  shouldn't  enjoy  your  presence  immensely, 
of  course,  but  then  I'm  sure  you  would  enjoy  my  absence  a 
great  deal  more.  If  you  could  only  content  yourself.' 

'  0  she  would  be  very  contented,  Mr.  Penn,'  said  Hulda, 
who  thought  the  silence  gave  her  leave  to  speak  ;  '  but  then 
you  see  Thornton  couldn't  do  without  her.'  And  the  grave 
little  face  and  childish  voice  that  spoke  as  if  the  subject 
were  quite  disposed  of,  made  even  Thornton  laugh,  and 
relieved  the  one  most  concerned  from  all  further  reply. 

But  though  Rosalie  steadily  refused  to  go  to  Mrs.  Arnet's, 
or  indeed  to  stay  anywhere  but  with  her  br-other,  she  must 
stay   where  she  was  until  he  should  find   rooms. 
10* 


226  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

Arid  resting  quietly  in  a  great  chair  before  the  library  fire 
Thornton  left  her. 

1 1  shall  be  back  in  an  hour,  Alie,'  he  said,  c  and  until 
then—' 

1  Until  then  what  ?  '  she  said  looking  up  at  him. 

'  0  nothing  much, — take  care  of  yourself,  that's  all.' 

She  smiled  and  told  him  she  was  safe  enough  there,  with 
a  look  so  clear  and  sweet,  that  he  would  almost  have  given 
her  carte-blanche  to  do  what  she  liked. 


LITTLE   TIME   TO   REST.  227 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  ladies  were  greatly  concerned ;  but  being  told  the  family  received  no  hurt, 
they  were  extremely  glad ;  but  being  informed  that  we  were  almost  killed  by  the 
fright,  they  were  vastly  sorry;  but  hearing  that  we  had  a  very  good  night,  they  were 
extremely  glad  again.—  Vicar  of  Wakefield. 

IF  Rosalie  had  left  a  clue  by  which  her  friends  could  find 
her,  she  would  have  had  little  time  to  rest  that  morning. 
As  it  was  Thornton  had  been  gone  but  half  an  hour  be 
fore  James  Hoxton  presented  himself  and  Miss  Arnet's 
card. 

'  Will  thee  see  her  in  here,  or  will  thee  not  see  her  at 
all  ?  '  said  the  quaker. 

1  See  her?  certainly.' 

James  Hoxton  walked  off  as  if  he  had  expected  or  would 
have  approved  a  different  answer  ;  and  hardly  had  it  reached 
the  carriage  before  the  lady  herself  swept  past  him  and  into 
the  library. 

*  Why  child  you  look  charmingly  ! '  was  her  first  saluta 
tion.  *  I  think  being  burnt  out  agrees  with  you.  But  how 
do  you  stand  it  here  among  the  quakers ! — that  man  be- 
friendG&  me  till  I  was,  nearly  out  of  my  wits.  To  which  you 
would  probably  reply  that  your  wits  are  less  volatile.  But 
to  come  to  the  point — may  I  fly  away  with  you  now  ?  or  at 
least  will  you  fly  away  with  me  ?  ' 

1  Can't,  my  dear.' 


228  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'Won't — I  told  mamma  so  before  I  came.  I  should 
have  been  here  an  age  ago,  but  mamma  got  one  of  her 
nervous  fits  when  she  heard  of  the  fire,  and  of  course  I  had 
to  stay.  I'm  sure  I  was  as  nervous  as  she  was.' 

'  And  you  are  also  convalescent  ? '  said  Rosalie. 

1  Also  convalescent.  Only  Thornton  nearly  gave  me 
another  fit  in  the  street.  Do  you  know  he  would  not  tell 
me  where  you  were  ?  only  said  that  when  you  were  settled 
anywhere  he  would  let  me  know — many  thanks  to  him  ! 
And  I  told  him  he  need  give  himself  no  trouble,  for  that  I 
would  find  you  before  I  was  an  hour  older, — which  I  have.' 

'  Many  thanks  to  you,'  said  Rosalie  smiling. 

'  Not  many,'  said  Marion. — ( there  is  now  and  then  a 
search  that  rewards  itself;  of  which  I  think  some  less 
volatile  wits  than  mine  may  be  aware.  Where  are  mine 
host  and  hostess  ?  ' 

*  I  know  not,'  said  Rosalie.  '  I  have  been  here  alone 
since  Thornton  went.' 

1  Pretty  house,  isn't  it,'  said  Marion  smiling — ( and 
pleasant  people.  Satisfactory — don't  you  think  so  ?  ' 

<  Very.' 

<  Where  is  Hulda  ?  ' 

'.She  went  with  Mr.  Raynor  into  the  greenhouse  after 
breakfast.' 

•  '  How  comes  it  you  are  not  there  too  ?  I  thought  you 
had  as  strong  a  penchant  for  roses  as  Beauty  in  the  fairy 
tale.' 

'  I  tell  you  I  was  here  with  Thornton  for  some  time.' 

'  Well  he  couldn't  play  the  part  of  Beauty  this  morning,' 
said  Miss  Arnet.  '  Such  a  mood  as  he  was  in  ! — savage.  I 
think  I  could  have  exchanged  shots  with  him  with  pleasure.' 

'  I  presume  you  did,'  said  Rosalie. 

'  No,  he  wouldn't  even  stop  to  fight ;  which  is  a  degree 


A   TRUE   ROSE.  229 

of  savageness  unprecedented  for  him.  I  wish  Mr.  Raynor 
would  come  ! — I  want  to  see  him.' 

'  He  cannot  save  you  the  trouble  of  looking,  Miss  Arnet.' 

'  And  he  needn't  save  me  the  trouble  of  hearing,'  said 
the  lady  turning  round.  '  What  a  police  officer  you  would 
make  !  Now  I- like  to  have  my  attention  arrested  first.' 

'  You  know  I  was  brought  up  in  a  quiet  persuasion,'  said 
Mr.  Raynor. 

'  My  visit  here  this  morning  reminds  me  strongly  of  a 
story  I  once  heard  you  tell,'  said  Miss  Arnet.  '  Is  that  your 
flower,  par  excellence  ?  ' 

'  This?  '  said  Mr.  Raynor,  looking  down  into  the  depths 
of  a  rose  which  he  held  in  his  hand.  '  A  queen  is  rather 
public  than  private  property,  methinks.' 

1  That  depends  a  little  upon  the  bounds  of  her  jurisdic 
tion,'  said  Miss  Arnet.  *  You  remember  what  the  song 

"And  my  heart  should  be  the  throne 
For  my  queen."' 

'  The  peculiar  throne  of  this  queen  is  a  somewhat  prickly 
rosebush,'  said  Mr.  Raynor  with  a  smile. 

'"Like  jewels  to  advantage  set, 

Her  beauty  by  the  shade  does  get." 

You  could  not  imagine  a  rose  in  clover.' 

'  What  an  idea  ! '  said  Miss  Arnet.  *  But  are  roses  then 
always  bound  to  be  miserable  ?  ' 

'  Nothing  can  be  that  whose  chief  end  is  the  happiness 
of  others,'  said  Mr.  Raynor.  '  And  a  true  rose  looks  up  at 
the  sunshine  that  comes  from  heaven — not  down  at  the 
thorns  which  spring  from  earth.' 

'  And  so  she  bears  her  discomforts^-' 

*  Like  her  blushing  honours.' 


230  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  I  give  up,'  said  Miss  Arnet.  c  I  see  you  have  studied 
the  case.  If  you  would  only  explain  the  philosophy  of 
thorns,  by  way  of  conclusion,  I  should  go  away  satisfied.' 

1  The  literal  and  figurative  thorns  came  in  together, — 
"  thorns  also,  and  thistles  shall  it  bring  forth  to  thee,"  was 
a  curse  for  the  mind  as  well  as  for  the  body.' 

'  That  is  the  fact — -not  the  philosophy,'  said  Miss  Arnet. 
1  And  I  suppose  you  will  tell  me  there  is  no  philosophy 
about  it — which  will  leave  me  as  unsatisfied  as  ever.  I 
wonder  what  you  look  so  satisfied  about,  child — and  you 
smile,  Mr.  Raynor, — do  you  think  that  is  a  pleasant  doc 
trine  ? ' 

'  I  think  this  is. 

'  "  And  lie  shewed  me  a  pure  river  of  water  of  life,  clear 
as  crystal,  proceeding  out  of  the  throne  of  God  and  of  the 
Lamb.  In  the  midst  of  the  street  of  it,  and  on  either  side 
of  the  river,  was  there  the  tree  of  life,  which  bare  twelve  man 
ner  of  fruits,  and  yielded  her  fruit  every  month :  and  the 
leaves  of  the  tre.e  were  for  the  healing  of  the  nations. 

'  "  And  there  shall  be  no  more  curse"  ' 

Marion  pulled  up  her  gloves  and  fitted  them  carefully 
for  a  few  moments,  in  silence  which  no  one  else  broke. 

{  Why  didn't  you  come  to  our  house  last  night,  Rosalie?' 
she  began  at  length. 

c  I  could  go  to  only  one  place  at  a  time,'  said  Miss 
Clyde. 

'  Clear  and  conclusive,'  said  Marion.  '  I  should  have 
come  for  you  in  the  night,  if  I  could  have  been  a  man  for 
the  nonce, — failing  that  I  stayed  at  home  and  fretted.  Well, 
I  shall  not  offer  you  the  comforts  of  my  house  a  second  time, 
having  just  learned  that  roses  befit  not  a  clover  field.  I 
know  what  a '  thorny  path  o'  care  '  you  will  tread  in  this  house, 
If  ever  anybody  was  born  to  smooth  away  the  sorrows  of 


VARIETIES   OF   WEATHER.  231 

life,  I  think  it  is  Mrs.  Raynor.     I  always  feel  an  immediate 
lull  in  her  presence.' 

'  "We  have  varieties  of  weather,'  said  Mr.  Raynor,  as  his 
mother  walked  in  by  one  door  and  Mr.  Penn  by  another. 

'  Isn't  that  remarkable  ?  '  said  Penn.  '  I  was  wondering 
this  morning  what  Miss  Clyde  would  do,  moping  here  in  this 
castle  of  silence  ;  and  now  here  is  Miss  Arnet  come  to  wake 
us  all  up.' 

'  I  thank  you,'  said  Miss  Arnet, — c  I  shall  not  undertake 
that  office  for  you,  Mr.  Penn.  And  the  reveille  is  quite 
as  like  to  arouse  me  as  anybody.' 

4  But  cannot  thee  stay  here  to-day  ?  '  said  Mrs.  Raynor. 
'  We  will  bear  thee  company  if  awake,  and  sleeping  Rosalie 
will  give  thee  hers.' 

*  I  will  go  away  and  give  her  a  chance,'  said  Miss  Arnet. 
*  No  I  thank  you  Mrs.  Raynor — mamma  will  expect  me.7 

'  If  you  are  walking  Miss  Arnet,  and  will  permit  me  to 
attend  you,  I  shall  think  myself  too  happy,'  said  Penn. 

'  You  may  go  as  far  as  my  carriage — I  suppose  that  will 
make  you  just  happy  enough,'  said  the  lady,  taking  a  grace 
ful  leave  of  the  others. 

So  audible  was  the  rustling  of  Miss  Arnet's  dress,  so 
brisk  Mr.  Penn's  attendant  steps,  so  gay  and  laughing  the 
voices  of  both,  that  a  quiet  little  foot  along  the  hall  was  not 
heard,  even  when  it  reached  the  library  door  ;  for  as  James 
Hoxton  had  at  that  moment  both  rottenstone  and  the  front 
door  knocker  in  his  hands,  he  permitted  this  visiter  to  an 
nounce  herself.  Which  however  she  hesitated  to  do ;  and 
there  is  no  telling  how  long  she  might  have  waited  had  not 
Hulda  accidentally  come  to  her  relief. 

'  0  yes  Miss  Morsel,  Rosalie's  here,  in  the  library, — 
why  don't  you  go  in  ? '  said  the  child  opening  the  door  and 
marching  in  herself;  while  Miss  Morsel  followed  with  a  help- 


232  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

less  air  of  intrusion,  and  returned  Mr.  Raynor's  bow  and 
smile  as  if  they  had  been  in  the  highest  degree  reproving, 
and  she  had  deserved  it. 

1  How  does  thee  do,  Bettie  Morsel  ?  '  said  the  quakeress 
coming  forward  to  meet  her.-  *  I  am  glad  to  see  thee.  If 
thee  thinks  this  is  the  first  time  thee  has  had  a  friend  in  this 
house,  thee  is  mistaken.' 

'  I  am  sure  I  never  thought  such  a  thing,'  said  poor 
Miss  Morsel,  who  having  by  this  time  got  hold  of  Rosalie's 
hand  felt  encouraged  to  speak, — c  never  !  I  always  told  ma 
that  if  we  lost  one  friend  I  should  know  where  to  look  for 
another.' 

'  How  do  you  do  ?  '  said  Rosalie. 

4  I'm  as  well  as  I  ought  to  be,  I  s'pose,'  said  Miss  Morsel, 
— '  I  generally  am.  And  so's  ma.  Complanin'  don't  neces 
sarily  mean  much  in  our  house.' 

'  Complaints  do  but  chafe  thee  ill,'  said  the  quakeress. 

'  I  always  thought  so,'  said  Miss  Morsel, — '  ma  don't. 
She  looks  upon  it  more  in  the  shape  of  a  plaster.  But  O 
dear !  to  think  of  your  house,  Miss  Rosalie  !  I  declare  it 
makes  me  feel  worse  than  if  we'd  been  burnt  out  ourselves 
— though  to  be  sure  the  house  aint  ours — nor  worth  a  pin, 
either.  But  just  to  think  of  yours  ! ' 

'  Why  our  house  is  not  burnt,'  said  Rosalie, — c  it  is  only 
scorched  and  smoked  a  little.' 

*  0  yes,  I  know,'  said  Miss  Morsel, '  but  then  it  don't 
matter — when  you've  got  to  a  cinder  you  may  just  as  well  go 
to  ashes.  Better  too  I  think';  and  then  you  know  what  you 
have  to  start  with.  But  I  thought  ma  'd  go  off  the  hooks  ; 
for  nothing  would  coax  her  primarily  that  it  wasn't  our  own 
bed-room.  Though  as  I  told  her,  it  didn't  signify  if  it  was; 
but  she  couldn't  view  it  in  that  light.' 

'  The  light  of  the  fire  was  stronger,'  said  Rosalie. 


SHE    STUDIETH    NOT    TO   BE    QUIET.  233 

'  It  was  strong  enough,  I'm  sure,'  said  the  little  guest, 
'  and  I  told  ma  we  ought  to  be  crying  our  eyes  out,  and  not 
sit  there  looking  at  it.  And  she  said  it  never  did  her  any 
good  to  take  physic  for  other  folks'  ail — and  I  suppose  it 
don't.' 

'  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  you  cry  your  eyes  out 
for  me,'  said  Rosalie  ;  her  lips  just  moving  with  the  kindly 
smile  that  went  round  the  circle.  '  And  it  is  very  needless 
in  this  case,  Miss  Morsel.  I  hope  we  shall  have  the  house 
in  nice  order  again  in  a  few  months.' 

1  Months  [  yes,'  said  Miss  Morsel,  '  but  where  are  you 
going  to  be  while  the  months  run  over  your  head  ?  I  never 
wished  I  had  a  place  of  my  own  as  I  did  this  morning — 
never  ! ' 

Rosalie  made  no  reply  but  by  holding  out  her  hand, 
which  Miss  Morsel  fastened  upon  with  great  energy. 

1  You  don't  feel  like  going  through  fire  and  water,  neither,' 
she  said,  giving  it  a  good  squeeze.  c  And  to  have  it  happen 
so  too !  now  if  the  blockading  gun-brigs  had  set  fire  to  it 
there  'd  have  been  some  sense.' 

'  Not  much,  I  think,'  said  Rosalie. 

*  But  I  mean,'  said  Miss  Morsel,  '  in  time  of  war  when 
you're  liable  to  be  bombarded  every  minute  of  your  life,  you 
naturally  don't  expect  to  have  anything  else  done  to  you. 
If  anybody  was  to  come  and  cut  my .  throat  you  know,  I 
should  think  it  quite  remarkable  to  be  blown  up  in  a  steam 
boat  at  the  same  time.  Ma  says  it  wouldn't  surprise  her  in 
the  least  to  have  forty  things  done  to  her  at  once,  but  it 
would  me.' 

'  I  fear  me  thy  mother  studieth  not  to  be  quiet,'  said  the 
quakeres-s,  when  Miss  Morsel  paused  for  breath. 

c  No,  that  she  don't,'  said  the  little  woman  with  renewed 
spirit,  '  she  never  did  study  much  of  anything.  And  I  sup- 


234  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

pose  it  can't  be  expected  she  should  take  it  up  now.  I  must 
go  home  this  minute,  or  she'll  be  in  a  great  to-do  about  me 
and  the  dinner  and  everything  else.' 

*  Well  you  see  that  I  am  safe,'  said  Rosalie  smiling. 

'  Yes  my  dear.  0  I  thought  you  were,  but  still  it's  a 
pleasure  to  see  it,'  said  Miss  Morsel  getting  up  and  survey 
ing  Miss  Clyde  intently.  c  And  comfortable  ?  I  may  tell 
ma  you're  looking  comfortable  ?  ' 

1  By  all  means  ! ' 

'  Then  I'll  go  right  straight  home,  and  be  content  for  the 
rest  of  my  natural  life,'  said  Miss  Morsel.  *  And  so  will  ma 
— as  content  as  she  ever  was,  which  is  saying  less  than  you'd 
imagine.  However,  we  all  have  to  do  as  we  can  in  this 
world.  Sit  still  dear  and  I'll  carry  you  away  in  my  eyes 
just  as  you  are.  And  please  let  me  go  out  as  I  came  in  and 
nobody  take  any  notice.' 

'  Thee  has  one  friend,  Rosalie,'  said  the  qnakeress,  as  the 
door  closed  upon  Miss  Morsel. 

'  But  lest  she  should  have  more  than  one,'  said  Mr.  Ray- 
nor,  *  or  to  prove  that  she  has  more  than  one — whichever 
you  like,  mother, — I  wish  you  would  give  orders  that  she  is 
not  to  see  another  until  night/ 

(  Where  does  thee  intend  to  banish  .thyself  to  ?  '  said  the 
quakeress. 

'  I  shall  be  friend  enough  to  go  away  and  leave  her  to  go 
to  sleep,'  he  answered, — '  that  is  only  one  of  the  lighter 
kinds  of  banishment.' 

And  left  alone  in  that  pleasant  light,  one  feeling  after 
another  folded  down  like  the  petals  of  a  veritable  rose, 
Rosalie  slept. 

And  there  was  no  disturbance.  Hulda  was  kept  at  her 
play  in  the  greenhouse  or  elsewhere,  and  happily  neither 
Thornton  nor  Mr.  Penn  made  his  appearance.  Whatever 


A   DREAMLESS,  SLEEP.  235 

steps  came  in  the  library  were  of  the  softest,  and  with  the 
lightest  of  hands  was  the  fire  from  time  to  time  replenished. 
Even  dinner  was  made  to  wait ;  and  still  "  Nature's  soft 
nurse"  kept  Rosalie  in  dreamless  sleep. 

She  awoke  to  find  Mrs.  Raynor  bending  over  her. 

*  Poor  child  ! '  the  quakeress  said  tenderly,  c  I  knew  not 
thy  weariness  till  I  saw  thee  asleep,  and  thy  cheeks  so  white. 
Art  thou  rested  ? ' 

'  Yes,  I  believe  so,'  Rosalie  said,  as  she  sat  up,  and 
pushing  back  her  hair  discovered  that  there  was  another 
person  in  the  room.  The  colour  came  back  very  fast. 

{  Why  doesn't  thee  put  thy  hair  back  altogether,  and 
shew  thy  pretty  ears  ? '  said  the  quakeress  with  a  quiet 
smile. 

'  And  then  give  you  leave  to  cover  them  up  with  a  cap, 
mother  ? '  said  Mr.  Raynor. 

'  Nay,  I  said  not  so,'  she  replied  ;  '  but  however  thee 
knows  white  muslin  is  not  very  thick.  Sit  thee  still  dear 
Rosalie,  while  I  call  thy  sister.  She  is  at  play  yet  but 
hath  asked  for  thee  many  times.'  And  as  she  opened  the 
door  and  passed  out,  Mr.  Raynor  came  close  to  Rosalie's 
chair. 

1  How  do  you  do  to-day  ?  '  he  said. 

'  Quite  well — at  least  I  suppose  I  shall  be  quite  well 
after  another  night.  Though  one  would  think  I  had  taken 
extra  sleep  enough  already.' 

'  No  one  would  think  so  who  watched  you  sleeping.  And 
I  fear  you  are  not  putting  yourself  in  the  way  of  rest.  If 
you  will  stay  here  Rosalie,  I  will  be  as  completely  out  of  the 
way  as  Penn  offered  to  be ;  and  no  one  but  you  shall  know 
the  reason.' 

1  And  no  one  could  it  trouble  as  it  would  me,'  she  said 
gently,  and  looking  up  but  to  thank  him. 


236  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

While  Hulda  came  bounding  into  the  room,  and  establish 
ing  herself  in  her  sister's  arms  whispered  confidentially, 

*  I  could  be  very  contented  here,  Alie, — couldn't  you? ' 

Pleasant  was  the  dinner,  with  its  varied  talk  among 
characters  so  different  and  yet  in  points  so  much  alike, — 
with  its  staid  quaker  servants  and  brilliant  dishes  of  flowers, 
— with  its  general  atmosphere  of  refinement  and  good  taste  \ 
and  around  all,  the  freshening  influence  of  a  politeness  that 
was  not  cut  and  dried  and  made  to  order,  but  which  came 
from  the  depths  of  kind  and  true  feeling.  It  rested  Rosalie 
more  than  her  sleep  had  done ;  and  half  making  her  forget 
all  painful  thoughts  of  the  past  or  the  present,  left  her  free 
to  contribute  no  small  share  to  the  pleasure  of  the  com 
pany. 

They  had  left  the  table,  and  the  twilight  fell,  and  still 
the  pleasant  talk  went  on  about  the  bright  wood  fire  in  the 
library,  and  no  one  was  in  haste  for  other  light.  And  no 
one  was  glad  when  the  door  opened  to  admit  Mr.  Clyde. 
He  was  not  more  light — he  was  another  shadow  ;  and  sor 
rowfully  Rosalie's  friends  marked  where  it  fell. 

But  Thornton  had  hardly  taken  a  seat,  and  had  not  at 
all  begun  what  he  had  to  say,  before  a  little  running  fire  of 
raps  announced  Dr.  Buffem. 

'  Confound  the  light  in  this  room — or  the  darkness, 
whichever  it  is,'  said  the  doctor, — c  here  am  I  laying  myself 
up  for  life  on  this  chair — none  too  easy  a  one  for  the  purpose, 
neither.  Ah  friend  Raynor,  how  does  thee  do  ?  and  why 
does  thee  not  have  thy  rooms  prepared  for  those  people  who 
do  not  carry  pocket  lanterns  ?  ' 

'  Thee  did  not  hurt  thyself? '  said  the  quakeress. 

1  Hurt  myself?  of  course  I  did.  How  many  chairs  do 
you  suppose  I  can  kick  down  and  not  hurt  myself  1  How 
now,  fair  Rosalie  !  methinks  the  moon  suffers  an  eclipse  to- 


POINT-BLANK   KANGE.  237 

night.  Friend  Henry  give  me  thy  hand.  Friend  Thornton 
I  will  perhaps  take  thine,  when  I  know  what  thou  art  here 
for.' 

{  Simply  to  take  my  sisters  away  sir,'  said  Thornton. 

1  Hum — '  said  the  doctor,  and  put  both  his  hands  behind 
him.  '  Friend  Raynor,  is  light  one  of  the  things  you  think 
people  should  be  deprived  of  because  they  occasionally  abuse 
it?' 

4 1  think  thee  is  the  only  person  who  has  abused  it  to 
night,  friend  Buffem,'  said  the  quakeress  quietly. 

'  Now  that's  what  I  call  point-blank  range — '  said  the 
doctor  turning  to  Rosalie.  *  Certainly  have  killed'nje  only 
that  my  weak  spot  is  that  of  Achilles.  Came  pretty  near 
being  killed,  that  way.  But  Miss  Rosalie  how  is  it  that  you 
can  sit  up  to  smile  ? 

' "  Thy  wee  bit  housie,  too,  in  ruin ! 

Its  silly  wa's  the  winds  are  strewin' ! 

An*  naething  now,  to  big  a  new  ane 

0'  foggage  green  1 

An'  bleak  December's  winds  ensuin', 

Baith  sneU  and  keen."' 

c  There  are  more  houses  than  one  in  the  world,  fortunate 
ly,'  said  Thornton  ;  c  but  if  you  mean  to  reach  one  to-night, 
Rosalie,  we  had  better  be  moving.' 

'  There  is  some  sense  in  that  remark — a  little,'  said  the 
doctor  preventing  her  reply.  c  There  is  this  qualification, 
— you  should  have  been  moving  some  three  hours  ago.' 

*  I  was  on  drill  and  could  not,'  said  Thornton  a  little 
stiffly. 

'  I  don't  see  what  your  being  on  drill  has  to  do  with 
your  sister's  going  out  at  an  unseasonable  time  of  night,'  said 
the  doctor,  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff.  '  Can't — for  the  life  of 


238  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  Unseasonable  ! '  said  Thornton.     c  Why  it's  only' — 

( I've  got  a  watch.'  said  the  doctor — { and  there's  a  clock 
on  the  mantelpiece.  Look  here — '  and  taking  up  a  candle 
he  held  it  before  Rosalie's  face.  '  There's  a  watch  for  you, 
Mr.  Clyde — what  time  o'night  does  that  say  ?  ' 

A  different  hour  from  the  other,  Thornton  felt ;  for  with 
the  anxious  hearing  of  their  talk  the  weary  look  had  come 
back  again.  She  was  just  fit  to  sit  there  and  be  quiet. 

'  Now  listen  to  me,'  said  the  doctor,  { and  be  reasonable 
for  once  in  your  life.  Take  leave  of  these  good  people — 
friends,  one  or  both  of  'em — kiss  your  sister  for  goodnight 
and  be  glad  of  the  chance  ;  and  then  go  home  with  me.  I'll 
answer  for  it  she'll  be  forthcoming  in  the  morning,  and  111 
take  as  good  care  of  you  as  you  deserve.  Come  ! — I  can't 
stay  here  fooling  any  longer.' 

'  Nor  I,'  said  Thornton  getting  up. 

c  Then  thee  will  leave  thy  sister  ? '  said  the  quakeress 
with  a  gratified  face. 

1  Since  she  chooses  to  stay,'  said  Thornton.  But  when 
he  turned  towards  her  and  saw  that  she  had  risen,  the 
generous  feeling  prevailed.  And  replacing  her  in  the  arm 
chair,  he  kissed  away  the  words  which  were  on  her  lips, 
and  told  her  he  was  glad  to  leave  her — she  was  better 
there. 

'  My  prescription  is  short,'  said  Dr.  Buffem,  as  he  stood 
with  the  door  in  his  hand, — '  a  mere  word,  Miss  Rosalie.' 

"  Take  thou  of  me  sweet  pillows,  sweetest  bed, — 
"  A  chamber  deaf  to  noise  and  blind  to  light,— 
"  A  rosy  garland  and  a  weary  head," 

— you  know  what  follows.' 


THE   HOTEL,  239 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Let  mo  but  bear  your  love,  I'll  bear  your  cares.— SHAKSPEABE. 

THE  sky  was  covered  with  clouds  when  Rosalie  took  posses 
sion  of  her  rooms  at  the  hotel,  but  there  were  no  clouds 
on  her  face  ;  and  Thornton  admired  to  see  how  she  could  bear 
to  lose  and  to  leave  what  she  enjoyed  very  much,  and  take  up 
with  any  sort  of  a  home.  If  he  had  spoken  out  his  whole 
thought  he  would  have  added,  {  and  any  sort  of  a  brother  ; ' 
— he  had  never  felt  more  inclined  to  be  good  company,  and 
never  less  satisfied  with  his  performance.  But  Rosalie  was 
satisfied  with  everything,  or  seemed  so  ;  and  had  even  the 
skill  to  hinder  all  expression  of  Hulda's  regrets  for  the  cat, 
the  greenhouse,  and  Mr.  Raynor. 

The  rooms  were  large  and  handsome,  but  like  other 
hotel  rooms  with  no  individuality  of  furniture ;  the  windows 
were  too  clearly  after  a  public  pattern,  the  doors  numbered 
to  distinguish  them  from  those  of  other  people.  It  was  a 
part  of  a  home,  set  apart  for  their  use  and  labelled.  Worse 
still  was  Thornton's  resolve  to  eat  at  the  public  table, — a 
resolve  so  fixed,  that  after  some  remonstrance  Rosalie  gave 
way.  But  it  wearied  her  exceedingly.  Some  of  her  plea- 
Bantest  times  of  seeing  her  brother  were  lost  now ;  and  in 
stead  there  was  the  sight  and  hearing  of  a  crowd  of  people 


240  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

who  came  together  but  to  eat  and  to  discuss  eatables. 
Meals  over,  Thornton  was  off;  and  it  was  just  as  it  happened 
whether  she  saw  him  again  for  five  minutes  until  the  next 
physical  '  reunion.'  The  first  morning  and  the  second  he 
did  sit  with  her  for  a  while,  and  stayed  at  home  one  whole 
evening  after  tea ;  but  the  good  habit  fell  off  and  she  was  as 
much  alone  as  ever.  More  alone — for  the  range  of  their 
once  pleasant  house  had  been  something,  where  every  picture 
and  piece  of  furniture  gave  her  a  word  as  she  went  by,  and 
where  the  whole  atmosphere  was  that  of  home.  Now,  what 
ever  made  its  way  to  her  senses  from  without  her  own  room, 
was  strange  and  depressing.  How  rarely  any  foot  went 
along  the  passage  with  the  free  tread  of  one  who  walks 
earnestly  in  a  good  pursuit !  how  few  voices  spoke  except 
from  under  a  burden  or  a  cloud !  The  children  indeed 
danced  up  and  down,  with  the  gay  spring  of  a  nature  that 
must  rebound — touch  what  it  will ;  but  Kosalie  looked  at 
Hulda  at  play  in  the  midst  of  those  hotel  chairs,  and  longed 
to  see  her  in  a  setting  of  green  grass  and  dandelions.  But 
that  could  not  be  ;  though  messenger  winds  were  beginning 
to  blow,  and  the  skies  looked  soft  and  unbending  as  from  a 
distant  glimpse  of  the  coming  spring. 

1  If  people  was  o'  my  way  o'  thinkin,'  said  Miss  Jumps 
one  day,  ( these  here  hotels  wouldn't  make  much  of  a  livin; ' 
and  Rosalie  entirely  agreed  with  her. 

1  There  used  to  be  somethin'  going  on,  home,'  Martha  con 
tinued;  'and  Tom  Skiddy  was  good  enough  for  to  talk  to  by 
spells ;  but  here  with  forty  men  round  you,  more  or  less,  you 
don't  know  which  way  to  turn.  And  you're  just  getting  as 
thin  as  a  rail,  Miss  Rosalie — and  Hulda's  as  peaked  as  she 
can  stand.  What  ails  us  to  go  back  to  the  old  house  and 
look  out  of  the  broken  windows  ?  there'd  be  some  air  there, 
anyway.' 


TOO   MUCH   PATIENCE.  241 

(  The  broken  windows  are  boarded  up,  Martha :  and  as 
soon  as  the  spring  opens  we  must  have  painters  and  masons 
and  I  know  not  what  all,  at  work.' 

1  They  won't  have  you?  said  Miss  Jumps — '  not  if  you 
don't  pick  up  astonishin'  afore  fall.  And  as  for  pickin'  up 
here,  you  might  as  well  smother  a  chicken  in  a  bag  o'  corn 
and  then  tell  him  to  get  fat.' 

'  Patience,  Martha,5  Rosalie  said  with  a  smile.  '  We 
shall  love  our  own  home  all  the  better  when  we  get  back 
to  it.' 

'  Don't  it  spoil  your  patience  to  see  other  folks  have  too 
much?'  said  Miss  Jumps, — "cause  it  does  mine.  That's 
what  I  said  to  Tom  Skiddy  last  night ;  and  he  was  up  to 
telling  me  that  the  chance  was  considerable  of  my  keeping 
what  I  had  as  long  as  I  lived,  if  that  was  all.  He's  stropping 
his  wits  a  little  too  much,  lately,  for  want  of  time.'  . 

'.What  does  Tom  have  to  do  now,  Martha?'  said  Hulda. 
1  He  don't  do  anything  at  the  house  but  sleep  there, 
does  he  ?  ' 

'I  guess  that's  all  he  ever  did,  o'  nights,'  said  Miss 
Jumps.  '  And  if  he  got  through  too  much  of  anything  other 
times  it  was  more'n  I  could  find  out.  I  s'pose  he  runs  round 
after  his  muskit  now  and  then.  A  woman  would  feel  smart 
at  that  sort  o'  work.  But  men  '11  foller  a  drum  most  any 
place, — just  as  easy  as  I  used  to  fetch  down  a  swarm  of 
bees  with  an  old  tin  pan.  Only  beat  hard  enough.' 

The  entrance  of  Thornton,  fresh  from  his  part  of  the 
cried-down  occupation,  restricted  all  further  expression  of 
Martha's  mind  to  the  peculiar  set  of  her  shoulders  as  she 
went  off. 

'  Well,  how  do  you  get  on  here  ?  '  said  Mr.  Clyde  as  he 
unbuckled  his  sword-belt. 

'  Peacefully,'  his  sister  answered  with  a  smile. 
11 


242  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  Which  would  make  an  end  of  me,  in  short  order,7  said 
Thornton. 

'  How  long  is  it  since  peace  and  war  joined  hands  ?  ' 

'  Only  do  each  other's  work  upon  some  people,'  said 
Thornton.  '  But  can  you  find  nothing  else  in  this  way  of 
life  ?  I  think  it  is  very  good  for  you.' 

She  smiled  a  little  to  think  how  much  he  knew  what 
*  this  way  of  life '  was. 

1  It  cannot  be  like  home,  you  know, — there  is  more  con 
finement — I  see  less  of  you.' 

*  See  enough  of  me,  don't  you  ?  ' 

'Not  half!' 

'  I  do  not  like  to  quote  the  proverb,  "  Un  sot  trouve 
toujours  un  plus  sot  qui  radmire,'"  said  Thornton,  'but  it 
really  comes  up  before  me.' 

'  Never  mind,'  said  his  sister, — '  you  know  what  Roche 
foucauld  says, — "  Si  nous  ne  nous  flattions  point  nous-memes, 
la  flatterie  des  autres  ne  nous  pourrait  nuire."  ' 

(  Your  tongue  is  not  often  dipped  in  flattery,  to  do  it 
justice,'  said  Thornton.  (  A  little  of  the  Sweetbrier  about 
that,  I  think.  But  I'm  afraid  if  I  stayed  more  at  home  I 
should  break  up  the  peacefulness.' 

Her  look  told  him  that  his  staying  away  often  did,  even 
through  the  smile  with  which  she  answered, 

'  My  dear  brother,  what  do  you  suppose  peace  lives  on?' 

'  Can't  tell,  upon  my  word,  Alie — oyster  shells  I  should 
think,  from  their  known  quietness  of  disposition.' 

'  Haven't  you  got  beyond  the  common  idea  of  peace  yet?' 
said  Rosalie. 

'  What  is  the  common  idea  ?  ' 

She  thought  a  moment,  and  answered. 

'"Sweet  Peace,  where  dost  thou  dwell?  I  humbly  crave. 

Let  me  once  know. 
I  sought  thee  in  a  hollow  cave, 


PEACE.  243 

And  asked  if  Peace  were  there. 
A  hollow  winde  did  seem  to  answer,  No: 
Go  seek  elsewhere."' 

'  Pretty  fair,'  said  Thornton.  <  But  before  I  submit  to 
call  that  mine,  let  us  have  the  uncommon  version.' 

He  was  sorry  he  had  asked,  for  he  saw  in  a  moment  from 
her  changing  face  where  the  next  answer  might  come  from. 
But  her  eyes  left  his  and  she  was  silent. 

'  Well  ? '  Thornton  said  a  little  impatiently,  for  he 
deigned  not  to  take  the  advantage  she  gave  him. 

The  voice  was  lower,  the  tones  how  different,  as  she  said, 

'  "  Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace,  whose  mind  is 
stayed  on  thee  :  because  he  trusteth  in  thee."  ' 

'  If  ever  there  could  be  such  a  thing  as  an  unconscious 
Jesuit,'  said  Thornton,  *  I  should  say  you  were  one.  It 
don't  signify  what  point  I  set  out  from — you  always  bring 
me  up  in  the  same  place.' 

'  Well  you  lead  and  I  will  follow  now.' 

'  Wouldn't  make  the  least  difference — I've  tried  it  scores 
of  times.' 

She  laughed  a  little,  with  a  half  pleased  half  inquiring 
look  that  her  brother  thought  altogether  charming. 

'  I  will  see  what  I  can  do,  Alie,  about  staying  more  in 
your  cave — I  am  not  sure  that  it  will  be  much  to  your  ad 
vantage.  ' 

The  promise  was  something, — a  fair  shell  and  not  much 
more  ;  and  so  the  end  of  the  winter  wore  away. 

Once,  soon  after  the  removal  to  their  new  quarters,  Mr. 
Raynor  had  come  there  ;  bringing  flowers  and  his  refresh 
ing  presence  where  both  were  needed  ;  and  often  after  that 
the  flowers  came  without  him.  They  were  such  regular 
visitors  indeed,  that  when  Rosalie  opened  the  door  in  the 
twilight  of  an  early  spring  evening,  she  held  out  her  hand 


244  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

for  the  flowers  without  perceiving  what  hand  held  them,  nor 
guessing  who  had  knocked 

1  May  I  come  in  ?  '  he  said. 

'  Certainly  ! — I  did  not  see  you  Mr.  Raynor,  or  at  least 
did  not  recognise  you.' 

'  I  must  take  another  shape  next  time,'  said  he  smiling. 
'  Were  you  ever  in  doubt  about  a  bunch  of  flowers  ? ' 

1  Not  often — lately,'  she  answered. 

*  What  are  you  doing  here  this  fine  evening  ?  if  it  is  a 
fair  question.' 

*  That  most  unprofitable  of  all  work — thinking.' 
1  Unprofitable  ? ' 

'  I  believe  I  should  have  said  musing  ;  and  that  seldom 
gives  me  much  for  my  pains. ' 

'  It  is  not  the  best  possible  work  for  you,'  said  Mr.  Ray- 
nor.  {  Where  is  Hulda  ?  ' 

'  She  has  been  out  all  day  with  Miss  Arnet,  and  came 
back  too  tired  to  sit  up  an  hour  longer.' 

(  Have  you  been  out  ?  ' 

'  No,  I  have  indulged  myself  with  a  quiet  day  at  home.' 

1  Then  come  and  indulge  me%ith  a  quiet  walk,  I  have 
been  mixing  with  the  crowd  to-day  till  I  am  tired  of  earth 
and  its  inhabitants,  arifl  want  some  one  of  them  to  give  me 
a  little  refreshment.  Come  Miss  Rosalie,  it  will  do  you 
good.' 

But  Rosalie  hesitated — might  not  Thornton  come  home 
to  spend  the  evening  with  her  ?  And  then  she  remembered 
that  he  had  gone  to  some  public  dinner  and  would  not  get 
away  until  very  late.  So  she  went. 

The  hotel  was  in  the  very  lower  part  of  the  city,  and  a 
few  minutes'  walk  brought  Mr.  Raynor  and  his  silent  com 
panion  upon  the  Battery  and  within  the  sweep  of  its  sea 
breeze.  There  was  a  young  moon  just  travelling  down  the 


THE    BRIGHT    LIGHT    IN   THE   CLOUDS.  245 

western  slope  of  the  sky,  bright  and  sharp-horned,  but  with 
too  faint  a  light  to  throw  more  than  a  narrow  rippling 
streak  upon  the  water  ;  and 

"  Silently  one  by  one,  in  the  infinite  meadows  of  heaven, 

"  Blossomed  the  lovely  stars,  the  forget-me-nots  of  the  angels." 

The  walks  were  clear  of  people :  many  being  drawn  off 
to  Tammany  Hall,  either  as  witnesses  or  partakers  of  Com 
modore  Rodgers  and  the  great  dinner,  and  others  by  other 
attractions  turned  elswhere.  And  it  was  still  enough  for 
the  dash  of  the  water  to  make  itself  sweetly  heard,  with  lit 
tle  interruption  but  an  oar  now  and  then,  or  the  creaking 
of  the  cordage  of  some  vessel  as  her  sails  swung  round  to 
meet  the  wind,  and  her  dark  shadow  crossed  the  little  strip 
of  moonlight.  Presently  the  moon  went  down,  and  the 
evening  star  '  rode  brightest.' 

'  Do  you  mean  that  all  the  good  I  am  to  get  must  come 
from  the  sky  and  stars  ? '  said  Mr.  Raynor,  when  they  had 
sat  for  some  time  in  almost  unbroken  silence.  '  I  thought 
you  were  to  talk  me  into  a  better  state  of  feeling.' 

1  Did  you  think  that  ?  ' 

(  Not  exactly,  to  speak  truth,'  said  he  smiling, — c  at  least 
not  if  you  could  help  it.  Did  you  see  how  the  water  closed 
behind  each  vessel  that  crossed  the  moonlight,  and  how  the 
bright  line  was  soon  as  straight  and  as  clear  as  ever  ? ' 

( I  watched  it  constantly.' 

'  And  what  did  it  make  you  think  of? ' 

' "  The  vision  is  yet  for  an  appointed  time,  and  though 
it  tarry ,  wait  for  it ;  because  it  will  surely  come,  it  wiL 
not  tarry"  '  she  said. 

*  And  this — "  Sorrow  may  endure  for  a  night,  but  joy 
cometh  in  the  morning" '  . 

4  Yet  men  see  not  the  bright  light  which  is  in  the  clouds,' 
said  Rosalie. 


246 

*  They  are  not  called  upon  to   see  it — only  to  believe 
that  it  is  there.     The  Lord  is  the  light  of  them  that  sit  in 
darkness. ' 

'  I  did  not  know  you  ever  felt  tired  of  the  world,  Mr. 
Raynor,'  said  Rosalie  after  another  little  pause. 

'  I  do  not  often — should  never,  if  my  place  in  it  were 
better  filled.  A  little  weariness  of  oneself  is  a  great  help 
towards  weariness  of  other  people.  There  is  the  strong  and 
sad  contrast  of  the  great  work  to  be  done,  with  the  poorness 
and  weakness  of  the  machinery ;  and  dissatisfaction  says, 
"  Lord,  they  have  slain  thy  prophets  and  digged  down  thy 
altars" — and  hears  not  the  answer  of  God,  "  Yet  have  Ire- 
served  unto  myself  seven  thousand  men  that  have  not 
bowed  the  knee  to  the  image  of  Baal."  But  I  did  not  mean 
to  do  myself  good  at  your  expense.  Do  you  expect  to  stay 
here  all  the  summer  ?  ' 

*  I  suppose  so,'  Rosalie  said.     c  If  Thornton  should  go 
away  for  a  few  days  I  might  go  with  him.     Not  else.1 

'  You  cannot  bear  it.' 

'  0  yes — perfectly.     I  was  here  last  summer. ' 

'  Yes,  you  were,'  he  answered  gravely.  '  There  is  but  a 
shadow  of  you  here  now.' 

'  Shadows  should  not  throw  shadows,'  said  Rosalie 
smiling. 

'  They  keep  people  in  the  dark  sometimes,'  said  Mr. 
Raynor. 

c  If  the  people  will  stay  there.' 

'  I  wish  the  law  covered  all  one's  rights,'  said  Mr. 
Raynor  with  a  voice  that  was  both  earnest  and  playful.  '  I 
have  a  defrauded  feeling  which  is  a  little  rampant  some 
times.  Give  me  leave  to  say  where  you  shall  be  this  sum 
mer,  and  see  if  all  your  wishes  will  not  be  as  well  furthered. 
Sometimes  I  think  they  would,  better.' 


THE   WAVES    CANNOT    PREVAIL.  247 

1 1  cannot  think  so.' 

*  And  you  will  not  put  yourself  in  my  hands  ?  ' 
'  I  could  not  be  happy  to  do  it,  Mr.  Raynor — not  now.' 
( It  would  go  hard  with  me  but  I  would  make  you  happy, 
if  I  once  had  a  chance  to  try.' 

'  It  would  do  much  towards  it  if  you  would  make  your 
self  so,'  said  Rosalie  in  a  low  voice. 

c  That  is  reserved  for  somebody  else  to  do.' 

There  was  no  answer  to  this — unless  the  lower  bend  of 

the  head  were  answer ;  and  suddenly  rising  up,  Mr.  Raynor 

drew  her  arm  within  his  and  walked  slowly  two   or  three 

times  up   and  down  without  speaking   a  word.     Then   he 

IT  JL  O 

stopped  at  the  outer  edge  of  the  Battery  where  the  water 
came  swashing  up  at  their  feet,  one  wave  following  another 
with  its  little  burden  of  noise  and  foam,  like  the  days  of 
human  life.  If  Mr.  Raynor  thought  as  he  watched  them 
how  many  such  days  had  rolled  on  and  broken  at  his  feet, 
without  bringing  the  one  thing  he  most  desired,  he  let  not  the 
thought  appear.  And  when  he  spoke  it  was  in  the  magni 
ficent  words  of  the  prophet. 

"  Fear  ye  not  me  ?  saith  the  Lord  :  will  ye  not  tremble  at 
my  presence,  which  have  placed  the  sand  for  the  bound  of 
the  sea  by  a  perpetual  decree,  that  it  cannot  pass  it :  and 
though  the  waves  thereof  toss  themselves,  yet  can  they  not 
prevail ;  though  they  roar,  yet  can  they  not  pass  over  it." 

There  was  strong  spiritual  as  well  as  literal  comfort  in 
the  words, — there  was  rest  in  the  mere  thought  of  over 
ruling  strength.  Rosalie  felt  it ;  and  stood  more  easily  and 
breathed  freer. 

The  clocks  of  St.  Paul's  and  Trinity  were  striking  the 
hour,  the  hum  of  the  city  every  moment  receded  and  soft 
ened  and  died  away  ;  and  when  the  last  iron  clang  had 
sounded  forth,  the  ebbing  tides  of  that  day  and  of  the  world 
went  each  its  course  in  silence. 


248  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

That  blessed  thought  of  infinite  power !  '  Rosalie  said. 

'Joined  with  infinite  goodness  and  wisdom— where 
should  we  be  without  it !  Are  you  tired  dear  Rosalie  ?  have 
I  kept  you  here  too  long  ?  ' 

The  voice  was  grave,  but  she  knew  it  would  say  nothing 
more  to  trouble  her. 

1  0  no,  I  am  rested.' 

He  walked  with  her  a  while  longer,  talking  brightly  and 
amusingly  of  different  things  of  interest ;  and  before  he  left 
her  once  more  in  her  own  room,  she  was  rested,  and  felt 
better  than  she  had  done  in  a  long  time. 


SPRING   WEATHER.  249 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

Mat.  I  understand  you,  sir. 

Wei.  No  question,  you  do,  or  you  do  not,  sir. 

Every  Man  in  his  Humour. 

IF  anything  could  have  reconciled  Rosalie  to  the  thought  of 
leaving  town,  it  was  that  as  the  spring  went  on  little  Hulda 
was  evidently  pining  for  .  what  the  town  could  not  give. 
The  hotel  life  to  which  she  was  now  shut  up  by  no  means 
replaced  her  old  life  at  home ;  and  the  April  days  were  not 
more  languid  than  Hulda. 

(  Give  her  a  strawberry  for  her  breakfast,  and  then  set 
her  on  a  chicken's  back  and  let  her  hunt  grasshoppers,'  was 
Doctor  Buffem's  advice.  '  And  hark  ye,  Miss  Rosalie,  I 
would  recommend  anoth'er  winged  horse  for  yourself — only 
don't  get  thrown  by  endeavouring  to  fly  away  from  earth  alto 
gether,  as  did  Bellerophon.' 

The  one  prescription  was  hardly  more  needed  than  the 
other.  Rosalie  knew  not  how  the  workings  of  the  mind 
were  refining  away  the  body, — how  the  anxious  watch  over 
one  and  another  was  softening  down  her  colour,  and  chisel 
ling  a  little  too  close  the  fair  outlines  of  her  face  ;  nor  how 
very,  very  delicate  the  hand  was  become  on  which  Hulda 
laid  her  weary  little  face  for  rest  and  refreshment.  No  one 
knew  it  in  fact,  but  the  person  whose  eye  she  rarely  met, 
often  as  it  rested  on  her. 
11* 


250  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

<  Thornton,'  said  Mr.  Raynor  one  night,  as  they  walked 
home  together  from  the  evening  drill,  '  I  wish  you  would 
take  your  sister  into  the  country.' 

'  Hulda  do  you  mean  ?  '  said  Thornton,  when  the  first 
little  start  of  surprise  had  passed  off.  c  Yes — I  believe  she 
does  look  rather  so-soish.' 

*  There  is  no  question  of  that.     But  I  meant  Rosalie.' 
If  the  progress  of  Thornton's  mind  might  be  measured 

by  the  ground  his  feet  went  over,  it  was  tremendous. 

'  Rosalie  ! '  he  said.  '  And  pray  Mr.  Raynor,  what  do 
you  wish  me  to  do  with  Rosalie  ? ' 

'  Take  her  into  the  country,  as  I  said  before.' 

{  But  what — what  upoa  earth  have  you  to  do  with  the 
matter  ? '  said  Thornton,  whose  words  and  ideas  were 
knocking  their  heads  together  after  the  most  approved 
fashion. 

Mr.  Raynor  smiled  a  little,  but  waving  the  question  he 
only  said, 

*  She  is  not  well,  Thornton, — she  needs  the  change  even 
more  than  Hulda.' 

Mr  Clyde  strode  on  a~s  before,  swinging  his  sword,  and 
looking  very  much  like  a  wasp  in  a  cobweb. 

1  And  has  she  requested  your  intercession  to  that  effect  ? ' 
he  said. 

'  No — '  replied  his  companion  coldly. 

*  Then  I  cannot  see,  I  really  cannot  imagine  what  you 
have  to  do  with  it,  Mr.  Raynor.' 

1  Neither  is  that  the  point.  My  words  are  true.  She 
is  not  the  same  person  for  strength  that  she  was  a  year  ago.' 

{  You  have  been  observant,  Mr.  Raynor,'  said  Thornton, 
though  the  words  half  choked  him.  '  Rosalie  will  be  glad  to 
hear  that  there  are  such  watchful  eyes  abroad.' 

'  You  will  hardly  be  repaid  for  the  trouble  of  telling  her ; 
but  about  that  as  you  please.' 


BOILING   WATER.  251 

And  it  will  be  as  I  please  about  taking  her  into  the 
country  I  presume,'  said  Thornton  stiffly. 

*  There  would  be  no  question  of  your  pleasure  on  the 
subject  if  you  knew  how  ill  she  is  looking,'  said  Mr.  Raynor 
with  the  same  grave,  undeclarative  manner.     *  But  one  who 
sees  her  every  day  becomes  accustomed  to  the  change  as  it 
goes  on. 

1  And  how  far  out  of  town  would  you  recommend  ? '  said 
Thornton  with  a  glance  at  his  companion's  face. 

1  So  far,  that  the  town  and  that  place  should  never  be 
named  together.' 

*  To  those  woods  where  the  belle  and  the  wild  flower 
met,  in  short,'  said  Thornton  drily.     l  Well — I  will  think  of 
it.     But  how  will  my  sister  do  there  without  the  considerate 
friends  she  has  in  town  ?  ' 

In  absolute  silence  Mr.  Raynor  walked  on,  the  calm 
lines  of  his  face  not  changing  in  the  least ;  while  Thornton 
at  his  side  was  inwardly  working  himself  up  to  the  boiling 
point  recommended  by  Dr.  Buffem.  At  last  the  words 
came — as  come  the  first  drops  from  the  heated  spout  of  a 
tea-kettle  ;  sputtering  forth  in  great  commotion,  and  almost 
dried  up  on  their  way, 

'  What  the  deuce  have  you  to  do  with  this  matter,  sir  ? 
What  concern  can  it  possibly  be  of  yours  ?  ' 

'  I  do  not  wish  to  bring  a  third  party  into  our  conversa 
tion  unnecessarily,'  was  the  quiet  reply  ;  '  therefore  if  you 
please  we  will  leave  that  out.  As  to  what  concern  it  is  of 
mine — look  at  Rosalie  yourself,  Thornton,  and  then  remem 
ber  that  your  eyes  see  but  half  in  her  what  mine  do.' 

It  was  no  longer  boiling  water, — it  was  one  of  those 
substances  which  when  perfectly  hot  become  perfectly 
quiet.  Thornton  even  slackened  his  pace;  and  while  his 
eyes  were  outwardly  measuring  blue  flag-stones,  in  reality 


252  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

they  were  following  Mr.  Raynor's  advice — and  finding  it  to 
the  last  degree  disagreeable. — They  walked  in  silence  for 
some  time. 

4  The  man  who  counsels  a  friend  to  take  care  of  his  bird, 
is  not  of  necessity  intending  to  steal  it  himself,  Thornton,' 
said  Mr.  Raynor  as  they  neared  the  hotel. 

1  That  is  a  most  unnecessary  idea  on  the  part  of  anybody,' 
was  Mr.  Clyde's  gracious  reply.  '  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate 
that  my  sister  is  in  a  cage,  Mr.  Raynor  1 ' 

'  A  sort  of  one — in  this  hotel.' 

{  The  wonder  is,'  said  Thornton  breaking  forth,  '  the  most 
astonishing  thing  of  all  is,  that  you  don't  relieve  me  of  all 
responsibility  in  the  matter.' 

'  Is  that  the  most  astonishing  thing  ?  "Well — be  it  so. 
And  yet  I  will  not  waive  all  right  to  entreat  for  the  bird 
purer  air — a  bower  of  leaves  to  sing  in  instead  of  this  one  of 
bricks.  And  rest,  and  quiet,  and  sunshine.' 

1  The  bird  is  much  obliged  to  you,'  said  Thornton 
haughtily,  '  but  I  may  waive  the  right  if  you  do  not.  As 
sume  the  charge  if  you  will, — only  let  it  alone  while  it  rests 
with  me.' 

1  The  dove  has  fed  from  your  hand  too  long,'  said  Mr. 
Raynor  quietly. 

1  Nonsense ! '  was  on  Thornton's  lips,  but  it  came  no 
further.  A  something  rose  up  and  stayed  it  there;  and 
though  he  strode  on  more  vigorously  than  before,  his  eyes 
saw  but  that  one  sweet  vision,  and  saw  it  not  clearly. 
Those  few  words,  the  name,  the  image,  had  reached  the  very 
inner  springs  of  his  nature. 

And  what  did  the  words  mean  ?  Was  that  shadow  the 
truth  or  his  own  imagination  ?  He  could  not  decide  and  he 
could  not  ask.  No — if  the  dove  would  fly  he  would  not 
hinder  her, — he  could  not  bid  her  go.  And  even  with  the 


SPRING   WINDS   AT   PLAY.  253 

thought  she  was  enfolded  to  his  very  heart  and.  the  heart's 
own  bitterness  wept  over  her  in  secret. 

Not  another  word  was  spoken  until  they  paused  at  the 
steps  of  the  hotel. 

c  I  shall  follow  your  advice  Mr.  Raynor,'  Thornton  said 
then; — c the  more  because  you  have  told  me  the  cause  of  it.' 
His  friend  smiled,  and  gave  him  a  parting  look  and  clasp  of 
the  hand  that  were  never  forgotten.  Thornton  went  up  stairs 
more  completely  conquered  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his 
life. 

The  scene  there  was  not  such  as  to  do  away  the  impres 
sion.  Rosalie  and  Marion  sat  near  the  window  talking 
earnestly,  and  Hulda  with  a  hand  on  the  lap  of  each  was 
jumping  lightly  from  side  to  side  ;  now  laying  her  head 
upon  Rosalie  to  see  how  Marion  looked,  and  then  leaning 
upon  Marion  to  try  the  effect  of  Rosalie  ;  while  the  two  gave 
her  an  occasional  glance  and  smile,  but  without  seeming 
to  come  back  from  their  conversation.  How  completely 
their  different  characters  were  worn  on  the  outside,  Thorn 
ton  thought,  as  he  stopped  and  looked  at  them,  the  twilight 
and  their  own  preoccupation  keeping  him  unseen  ;  for  while 
Marion's  warm  quick  nature  excited  itself  for  every  trifle, 
kept  head  and  face  in  earnest  motion,  and  gave  the  little 
hands  many  an  excursion  into  the  air  when  Rosalie's  lay 
perfectly*  quiet, — there  were  times  and  subjects  that  called 
forth  a  light  and  energy  in  this  one's  face,  before  which 
the  other  sobered  down,  and  took  the  listener's  part  with  an 
air  subdued  and  almost  tearful.  A  manner  to  which  Thorn 
ton  gave  both  understanding  and  sympathy. 

The  window  was  open,  and  the  spring  wind  stirred  the 
curtains  with  a  fitful  touch  ;  sometimes  sweeping  their  folds 
back  into  the  room  with  its  soft  gale,  and  then  just  playing 
with  their  fringe,  and  softly  tossing  and  waving  the  hair  on 
the  brows  of  the  two  ladies. 


254  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

The  twilight  was  falling  softly,  mistily,  and  lights  be 
gan  to  glimmer  in  heaven  and  on  earth  ;  and  the  city  din  was 
murmuring  itself  to  sleep.  Footfalls  now  were  individual, 
and  wheels  rolled  on  with  monotonous  distinctness  ;  and  still 
the  air  came  in  with  freshening  breath,  and  still  the  ladies 
sat  and  -looked  and  talked.  Looked  with  grave  eyes,  and 
talked  with  quiet  voices.  Now  and  then  the  air  wafted  up 
a  strong  whiff  of  Havana  smoke  :  or  the  slamming  of  the 
hotel  doors,  or  loud  footsteps  in  its  hall  broke  the  silence. 
But  they  hardly  interrupted  the  murmur,  which  seemed  to 
the  listeners  like  the  distant  beat  of  the  ocean  of  life  about 
the  cave  of  their  own  thought. 

1  And  you  think,  Alie,'  said  Marion  with  a  tone  as  if  she 
had  been  pondering  some  former  words  ;  '  you  do  truly  think 
that  one  can  learn  not  to  fear  death  ?  Death  never  seems 
to  me  a  reality  but  in  these  mimic  ebbings  away  of  life.  One's 
spirits  do  so  ebb  away  with  it,  that  one  naturally  asks,  will 
they  ever  return  ?  I  don't  love  to  sit  and  think  at  this  time 
of  day — it  makes  me  gloomy.  And  you  look  as  bright  as 
that  evening  star.' 

Rosalie  smiled. 

'  It  is  so  resting  to  me — so  soothing,  to  think  and  re 
member  ! ' 

'  Yes,  at  floodtide.' 

'  If  the  tide  carry  not  all  my  treasure  it  matters  little 
whether  it  ebb  or  flow.  I  shall  not  lose  footing  till  the 
commissioned  wave  come,  and  then — <;  The  other  side  of  the 
sea  is  my  Father's  ground  as  well  as  this  side."  ' 

'  You  speak  so  assuredly,'  Marion  said. 

< "  I  know  in  whom  I  have  believed,'  "  Rosalie  answered 
with  a  little  bit  of  that  same  smile.  l  "  It  will  be  hard  if 
a  believing  passenger  be  casten  overboard."  ' 

Marion  leaned  her  head  against  the  window  frame  with 


UNSOPHISTICATED    MINDS.  255 

a  dissatisfied  air  and  was  silent.  And  wishing  to  hear  no 
more  such  words,  Thornton  came  forward  and  laid  a  hand 
upon  each. 

His  sister  looked  up  with  a  bright  welcome,  while 
Marion  after  one  glance  and  word  looked  away  out  of  the 
window,  her  shoulder  half  withdrawn  from  his  touch. 

c  Did  you  see  my  carriage  at  the  door,  Captain  Thorn 
ton  ? '  she  enquired. 

1 1  did  not  even  look,  not  knowing  you  were  here.' 

'  Do  you  never  see  a  thing  without  looking  ?  '  said  Marion 
a  little  impatiently. 

'  If  you  can  see  me  at  present,  then  doubtless  I  might 
have  seen  your  carriage  if  it  was  there.' 

1  0  but  it  isn't  there,'  said  Hulda,  trying  to  get  her  chin 
over  the  window  sill ;  '  so  you'll  have  to  stay  to  tea,  Marion.' 

'  I  can  wait  for  my  tea,  pet.' 

'  But  won't  you  stay  ?  '  said  the  child  coming  back  dis 
appointed.  '  Because  we  want  you  to  very  much.' 

'  And  because  Rosalie  is  going  out  of  town  in  a  few  days,' 
observed  Thornton. 

'  Out  of  town  ! '  said  his  sister.  '  You  have  had  but  one 
word  to  that  bargain  yet.' 

'  I  have  had  as  many  words  as  I  want.' 

1  With  whom  ?  '  said  Marion  with  a  keen  look.  But  as 
Thornton  chose  to  answer  the  look  first  the  question  was 
not  repeated. 

'  Will  you  go  along  and  take  care  of  her  ?  '  he  said. 

1  That  duty  would  appear,  to  unsophisticated  minds,  to 
devolve  upon  somebody  else.' 

'  Very  likely.  But  sophisticated  minds  can  see  that 
men  have  something  else  to  do.' 

*  It  is  time  they  hadn't  then,'  said  Marion. 

*  I  should  be  very  happy  to  leave  you  in  command  of  my 
company,  if  you  prefer  that  sphere  of  action.' 


256  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  Well  I  did  forget  certainty,  that  just  now  you  hav& 
something  else  to  do,'  was  Marion's  rather  pointed  reply. 

1  But  I  thought,'  said  Rosalie,  c  that  if  I  went  at  all  you 
were  to  go  too.  I  thought  you  meant  to  get  leave  of  absence 
for  your  own  good.' 

1  For  just  so  much  good  as  it  will  do  me  to  put  you  in 
clover,  my  dear — no  more.' 

She  shook  her  head. 

1  Then  I  will  not  be  put  in  clover,  and  we  will  stay  here 
quietly  together.' 

'  We  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,'  said  Thornton.  c  You 
are  to  stay  all  summer  at  a  farmhouse  ;  and  I  am  only  wait 
ing  to  find  one  that  is  far  enough  off.' 

*  0  will  you  really  take  us  away  into  the  country  ? '  cried 
Hulda,  who  had  stood  listening  with  intense  interest.  '  O 
how  glad  I  shall  be  !  Won't  it  be  delightful,  dear  Alie  ?  ' 
she  said,  leaning  on  her  sister's  lap  and  looking  up. 

Rosalie  was  silent.  There  had  been  words  just  waiting 
their  chance,  but  at  the  flush  that  came  over  the  pale  little 
face  raised  so  eagerly  to  hers,  all  power  to  speak  them  failed. 
It  was  hard  to  choose  between  such  alternatives.  And 
Thornton  saved  her  the  trouble.  Never  had  she  seen  him 
so  set  on  anything  as  upon  this  plan ;.  and  his  strong  will 
and  Hulda's  silent  pleadings  carried  the  day.  Rosalie  quiet 
ly  made  her  preparations. 

'  I  s'pose  you'll  forget  all  about  this  here  town  o'  York 
when  you  get  away  once,  Martha,'  said  Tom  Skiddy,  the 
night  before  the  journey. 

'  Like  enough  I  shall,'  replied  Miss  Jumps.  '  I'm  a  first 
rate  hand  at  forgetting.  Lost  sight  o'  more  things  in  my 
life  than  you  could  shake  a  stick  at, — people  too.' 

1  Well  remember  and  come  back,  will  you  ?  '  said  Tom. 

<  Can't  say — '  replied  Martha.     '  If  it  should  seem  to  be 


IT'S   PLEASANT   TO   BEMEMBER.  257 

advantageous  for  me  to  stay  there,  there's  no  telling  what  I 
may  do.' 

'  Sartain  ! '  replied  Tom.  <  There's  no  telling  what  I 
may  do  neither.  '  Taint  a  sort  of  a  world  for  a  man  to  keep 
track  of  his  own  mind  easy.' 

'  The  surest  way  to  keep  track  of  a  thing  is  to  run  on 
afore  it,'  said  Martha. 

'  And  then  it  don't  always  foller,'  said  Tom  thoughtfully. 
*  It's  a  pity  things  is  so  easy  forgot — it's  kind  o'  pleasant  to 
remember.' 

'  Well  you  can  always  recreate  yourself  in  that  way  when 
you've  a  mind  to,'  said  Miss  Jumps,  with  a  somewhat  re 
lenting  air. 

'  That's  true  enough,'  said  Tom  with  a  similar  demon 
stration.  '  So  can  you.' 


258  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

On  the  seas  are  many  dangers, 

Many  storms  do  there  arise, 
Which  will  be  to  ladies  dreadful, 

And  force  tears  from  wat'ry  eyes. — Spanish  Ladye*s  Love. 

IT  was  in  a  corner  of  the  Bay  State  that  Thornton  decided 
to  place  his  sisters.  Partly  from  the  fine  country  and  the 
wholesome  air,  and  partly  from  the  peace  and  security  which 
could  be  found  there  more  surely  than  in  New  York.  But 
he  abhorred  stage-coaches  ;  and  determined  that  at  least  one 
part  of  the  journey  should  be  pleasant,  he  would  go  as  far  as 
New  Haven  by  water,  and  in  a  sailing  vessel — which  in  those 
days  of  Steam's  apprenticeship  was  far  better. 

The  Old  Thirteen  was  a  pretty  little  sloop,  neat  and 
trim  built ;  worthy  of  the  sea  as  well  as  sea-worthy ;  and 
despite  her  name  had  seen  but  just  enough  service  to  prove 
her  an  excellent  sailer.  Her  canvass  was  new,  with  only  the 
unfledged  look  of  newness  worn  off;  her  mast  white  and 
tapering  ;  her  hull  painted  of  a  deep  dull  red  half  way  above 
the  water  line,  and  from  that  to  the  bulwarks  of  a  dark 
olive  green.  Her  flag  was  of  the  largest,  her  streamers 
of  the  longest  and  brightest ;  her  figure-head  was  the  Liberty 
of  the  old  coins  with  the  thirteen  stars  for  a  crown.  In  this 
sloop  Mr.  Clyde  saw  fit  to  take  passage  for  New  Haven, — 
not  truly  because  of  the  beauty  of  her  equipments,  but  be- 


CAPTAIN   CRUISE.  259 

cause  she  was  reputed  swift  and  her  captain  the  £  right  sort 
of  man.' 

He  had  spent  his  life  in  trading  vessels  upon  the  Sound, 
— generally  running  out  as  far  as  Point  Judith  and  taking 
up  a  little  of  the  shore  trade  on  his  way.  For  some  time 
indeed,  the  Sound  had  been  too  closely  blockaded  to  permit 
unarmed  vessels  much  freedom  upon  its  waters,  and  the 
shipping  trade  was  rather  dull.  But  Captain  Pliny  Cruise 
being  of  the  mind  that  a  week  on  shore  would  certainly 
kill  him,  continued  to  brave  the  enemy's  guns  as  offering 
a  much  more  desirable  death ;  and  by  a  system  of  dodging, 
running,  and  out-sailing,  which  was  always  successful,  he 
carried  on  his  trade  with  Rhode  Island  as  though  no 
Squadron  were  in  the  way. 

The  Old  Thirteen  then,  lay  at  her  pier  in  the  East 
river;  and  the  May  morning  acted  the  part  of  Macbeth's 
witches,  and  said, 

"  I'll  give  thee  a  wind." 

But  when  Mr.  Clyde  and  his  companions  appeared,  there 
sprang  up  a  breeze  of  another  kind  and  not  quite  so  favour 
able.  For  Thornton  with  characteristic  carelessness  had 
merely  engaged  '  the  best  accommodations  there  were,  for 
four  people ; '  and  the  idea  of  a  lady  passenger  had  never 
entered  the  Captain's  head. 

'  Bonnets ! '  he  said  as  Thornton's  party  emerged  from 
the  carriage, — '  one,  two,  three  on  'em — what  on  airth  ! ' 
And  Captain  Pliny  Cruise  at  once  walked  off  to  the  other 
end  of  his  vessel,  took  a  seat  and  looked  into  the  water. 
There  he  sat  until  Thornton  touched  his  shoulder. 

*  Good  morning,  Captain  Cruise.' 

'  How  are  you,  Mr.  Clyde  ?  '  said  the  Captain,  looking 
round  and  showing  a  very  discomfited  face. 


260 

'  Is  this  where  you  commonly  receive  your  passengers  ? 
said  Thornton. 

/  *  No,'  said  the  Captain,  returning  to  his  gaze  at  tha 
water, — '  not  commonly.  I  do'  know  where  the  place  is, 
no  more.' 

'  If  you  are  not  particularly  engaged,'  said  Mr.  Clyde, 
with  some  emphasis,  ( I  should  like  to  know  where  to  put  my 
sisters ! ' 

*  So  should  I,'  said  Captain  Pliny.  '  Give  a'  most  any 
thing  I'm  master  of  at  this  present.' 

But  he  rose  and  walked  aft ;  and  being  formally  pre 
sented  to  Miss  Clyde  he  welcomed  her  with, 

'  Right  sorry  to  see  ycu  here,  ma'am.' 

1  Sorry  to  see  me  1 '  Rosalie  said. 

(  Exactly,'  said  Captain  Pliny.  *  Always  sorry  to  see  a 
cargo  come  aboard  I  do'  know  how  to  stow.' 

1  Don't  know  how  to  stow  !  '  said  Thornton  impatiently. 
'  Why  you  said  you  could  take  half  a  dozen.' 

1  Sort  not  specified,'  said  the  Captain.  '  You  never  said 
the  first  word  about  bonnets — and  the  Old  Thirteen  aint  a 
bandbox,  though  she  do  come  near  it.' 

'  You  will  not  want  much  room  in  which  to  stow  me/ 
said  Rosalie  with  a  smile. 

1  Always  give  chena  particular  packing  and  soft  quarters,1 
said  the  Captain.  <  And  if  you  aint  labelled  (  Glass  with 
care,'  never  trust  me  with  another  crate.  Then  there's 
another  thing,  Mr.  Clyde;  afore  the  vessel  heads  off  into  the 
stream,  you'd  maybe  as  well  take  a  look  at  my  chart ;  but 
that's  between  you  and  me ;  '  and  leading  the  way  into  the 
little  cabin  he  made  Rosalie  understand,  that  if  by  the  use 
of  the  whole  or  any  part  of  the  Old  Thirteen  she  could 
make  herself  comfortable,  it  was  at  her  service. 

'  Now  Mr.  Clyde,'  he  said,  c  come  and  take  a  look  at  my 
chart.' 


A   FEMININE   CRAFT.  .         261 

'  I  don't  know  anything  about  charts,'  said  Thornton. 

{ 'Taint  too  late,  yet,'  said  the  Captain.  '  Know  where 
you're  going  and  how  to  go,  and  you're  'half  there.  Come 
sir.' 

And  Thornton  went,  though  laughing  both  at  himself 
and  the  Captain  ;  but  when  once  on  deck  the  manner  of  the 
latter  changed. 

'  The  thing  is  just  this,  Mr.  Clyde — and  I  wouldn't 
have  such  a  cargo  aboard,  not  for  a  sloop  load  o'  prize 
money.  The  Sound's  full  o'  rough  customers,  sir ;  and  like 
enough  we'll  fall  in  with  some  of  'era.  And  they  don't  speak 
no  softer  to  ladies'  ears  than  to  others.' 

*  They'll  never  get  a  chance  to  speak  to  us,'  said  Thorn 
ton, — *  they're  too  far  down  the  Sound.' 

4  We'll  hope  that,'  said  Captain  Pliny,  i  and  yet  they 
might.  They've  found  out  there's  Eastern  people"  most  every 
place,  doubtless.  Never  run  a  feminine  craft  into  rough 
weather  sir,  if  you  know  it  aforehand.  They  aint  just  built 
for  it.' 

'  0,'  said  Thornton  laughing,  '  my  sister  can  stand  fire 
like  a  soldier.' 

The  old  Captain  shook  his  head. 

c  Ay  sir !  like  and  not  like !  better  and  worse !  And 
she  don't  look  as  though  she'd  seen  much  salt  water — not  o' 
the  genuine.' 

'  She'll  see  more  if  we  ever  get  away  from  this  wharf,' 
said  Thornton.  '  You  come  and  go,  Captain  Cruise, — 
where's  the  danger  to  other  people  ?  ' 

1  Ay,'  said  Captain  Pliny, — '  I  come  and  go.  What  of 
that?  This  here  mainmast's  my  post,  sir— that's  why  I 
stand  by  it.  It  aint  yours.  And  all  the  rest  o'  my  fleet 
is  at  anchor  sir,  long  ago, — safe  moored  in  the  harbour. 
There's  none  to  look  in  the  papers  and  see  whether  Pliny 
Cruise  is  arrived,  or  only  cleared  for  a  better  country.' 


262  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  Well  when  shall  we  have  our  clearance  from  here  9 
said  Thornton,  who  was  not  fond  of  meeting   Rosalie's  opin 
ions  where  he  didnlt  expect  them. 

i  I've  said  my  say,'  was  the  Captain's  reply.  And  in 
half  an  hour,  during  which  three  or  four  messengers  had 
been  sent  in  as  many  different  directions  for  fruit  and  other 
lady-like  comforts,  the  Old  Thirteen  glided  off  into  the 
channel  and  set  her  sails  before  the  wind. 

By  that  time  Rosalie  and  Hulda  came  on  deck  again, 
and  took  seats  there  to  enjoy  the  fresh  breeze.  View  there 
was  not,  at  least  that  was  very  well  worth  looking  at ; 
though  spring  colouring  made  even  those  low  shores  look 
pretty,  and  the  river  in  its  blue  windings  shewed  many  a 
curl  and  crest  over  its  rocky  bed.  The  sloop  went  smoothly 
on,  and  her  Captain  busied  himself  with  his  own  judgment 
of  her  passengers.  There  was  no  disagreeable  observation 
of  them,  but  now  and  then  a  few  words  or  a  look — chiefly 
at  Rosalie  ;  and  each  time  his  eyes  went  back  with  increased 
vigilance  to  the  reaches  of  the  river  that  lay  beyond.  Bat 
the  afternoon  passed  quietly  and  the  night  fell  with  no  dis 
turbance  :  and  if  Rosalie  failed  to  sleep  with  absolute  for- 
getfulness,  it  was  for  no  such  reason  as  made  Captain  Pliny 
pace  the  deck  all  night  over  her  head. 

The  morning  broke  with  light  airs  from  the  north,  and 
the  vessel  made  small  headway.  The  Sound  began  to  open 
out  now,  and  the  prow  of  the  little  vessel  pointed  to  a 
horizon  line  of  sea  in  the  far  distance ;  lying  blue  and 
sweet  as  if  no  disagreeable  thing  had  ever  crossed  it.  Yet 
thither  were  Captain  Pliny's  eyes  directed,  as  if  at  every 
moment  he  expected  to  see  the  whole  British  fleet  come  in 
sight ;  while  the  same  watchful  glances  raked  the  coast  on 
both  sides. 

'  How  fair  everything  is  this  morning,'  said  a  voice  at  the 
Captain's  elbow. 


WAITING   FOR   THE  MORNING.  263 

*  Yes — all  is  fair — sartain  !  '  said  Captain  Pliny  rising 
with  a  surprised  look  at  his  visiter.     '  Sartain  ! '  he  repeated 
softly  as  his  eye  took  another  observation  of  that  delicate 
face.     '  Fair  and  softly  goes  so  far  into  this  twenty-fifth  of 
May.     But  Madam  we  don't  all  keep  watch  aboard, — and 
they  that  watch  for  the  morning  had  ought  to  be  the  strong 
and  not  the  weak.' 

She  smiled — partly  at  the  rough  and  kindly  mingling  in 
his  speech,  partly  at  the  {  sweet  English '  which  as  she  truly 
said  the  Bible  always  was  to  her  ear ;  and  she  repeated — 

"  My  soul  waitethfor  the  Lord  more  than  they  that  ivatch 
for  the  morning" 

'  Ay,  ay,'  said  Captain  Pliny,  '  I  thought  that  was  in  your 
face,  from  the  first  you  come  aboard.  But  if  you'd  ever 
been  where  I  have — on  deck  in  such  a  hurricane  as  you 
couldn't  stand  for  one  minute,  young  lady ;  with  the  rain 
coming  down  whole  water,  and  the  waves  flying  to  meet  it 
like  a  thirsty  caravan, — I  say  if  you'd  ever  done  that,  you'd 
know  what  the  verse  meant !  And  it  seemed  as  if  I  '  waited 
for  light  and  behold  obscurity.' ' 

Did  she  not  know  ?  had  she  not  watched  through  those 
long  nights  of  stillness  in  a  sick  room  which  precede  the 
storm  and  the  wreck?  She  was  silent  and  Captain  Pliny 
went  on. 

'  Waiting's  a  hard  thing  somewhiles — that's  true.  I've 
seen  times  when  I  would  do  the  worst  day's  work  I  ever  did, 
sooner  than  wait.  And  yet  "  blessed  is  he  that  waitcth" 
and  "  he  that  waiteth  shall  not  be  ashamed" — that's  true 
too,  on  land  and  water.  Even  for  things  of  this  world.' 

*  Yes,'  Rosalie  answered ;  and  half  to  herself  she  went 
on. 

"  For  since  the  beginning  of  the  world  men  have' not 
heard,  nor  perceived  by  the  ear,  neither  hath  the  eye  seen,  O 


264  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

God,  beside  thee:  ivhat  he  hath  prepared  for  him  that  wait 
cthfor  him" 

1  True,  true,'  said  Captain  Pliny ;  '  I  believe  that.  And 
this  heavens  and  earth  shall  not  come  into  mind,  for  the 
glory  that  excelleth.  And  yet  that's  sort  o'  handsome,'  he 
said  after  a  little  pause,  raising  his  weather-browned  hand 
and  pointing  forwards.  The  wind  was  blowing  quite  fresh, 
and  beneath  its  influence  the  water  rose  and  fell  in  large, 
deep  green  waves,  each  with  its  white  cap  lit  up  with  a 
thousand  sparkles.  "The  vessel  dipped  and  rose  on  the  un 
dulations  with  a  graceful  submission  to  circumstances ;  and 
now  and  then  one  of  her  opposers  came  full  tilt  against  her 
prow,  and  was  dashed  to  pieces  on  the  little  Liberty  figure 
head. 

'  The  Old  Thirteen  takes  the  waves  pretty  much  as  her 
namesake  did  the  British,'  remarked  Captain  Pliny  as  the 
spray  flew  over  the  deck.  c  How  do  you  like  that,  young 
lady  ? ' 

'  I  like  it  well,'  she  answered  with  a  smile. 

{  Craft  running  t'other  way  has  it  smoother,'  said  the 
Captain ;  '  but  the  wind's  dead  ahead  for  us,  and  we  take 
the  waves  which  way  we  can  get  'em.  Slow  work  too.  But 
an  honest  voyage  is  always  just  the  right  length.' 

Their  progress  was  indeed  slow.  Long  tacks  from  side 
to  side  made  it  rough  as  well,  and  every  puff  of  the  wind 
was  charged  with  spray;  but  still  the  Captain's  unwonted 
cargo  remained  on  deck,  and  even  Hulda  enjoyed  without 
fear  the  salt  water  and  the  fresh  breeze.  There  had  been 
little  in  sight  all  the  morning, — few  white  wings  abroad  but 
sea  gulls,  and  what  there  were  mere  specks.  By  dinner 
time  two  or  three  of  them  were  nearer,  but  the  Captain 
'knew  them  for  American  coasters,  and  having  pointed  out 
Hart  Island  to  Rosalie,  and  told  her  that  at  this  rate  she 


A   HAIL.  265 

would  be  in  New  Haven  before  she  knew  it,  they  went  to 
dinner. 

1  You  have  spent  all  your  life  in  this  way,  Captain  ? ' 
said  Rosalie. 

'  Set  afloat  afore  I  knew  a  painter  from  a  buoy,'  returned 
Captain  Pliny ;  not  at  all  aware  that  his  hearers  had  not  yet 
attained  that  knowledge. 

'  And  what  sort  of  a  life  do  you  call  it  ?  '  said  Thornton. 

1  First  rate  ! '  said  Captain  Pliny.  '  Can't  be  beat,  if  you 
go  the  world  over  and  try  your  hand  at  everything.' 

'  Tedious  enough,  I  should  think,'  said  Thornton. 

'  Why  as  to  that,  young  gentleman,'  said  Captain  Pliny, 
( there's  many  a  one  I  do  suppose,  too  fresh  to  like  salt  water. 
But  no  man  who  does  his  duty  has  a  right  to  call  his  life 
tedious — or  I  might  say,  a  chance ;  for  those  very  things  are 
just  what  he  was  put  into  the  world  to  do.  If  he  will  ballast 
'  his  ship  according  to  his  own  fancy,  not  for  her  build  and 
cargo,  no  wonder  if  she  don't  sail  well.' 

'  One  might  have  a  bad  cargo  though,'  said  Thornton.     . 

'  Not  without  you've  got  sense  to  match,'  said  the  Cap 
tain.  '  The  best  cargo's  what'll  fetch  most  where  you're 
going. — The  end  of  the  voyage,  young  gentleman,  and  the 
profits — keep  your  eye  on  them, — then  load  your  ship  and 
make  sail.' 

1  Now  here  were  you  only  yesterday  getting  a  bad  cargo, 
said  Thornton. 

'Bad?  no,'  said  Captain  Pliny  with  a  smile — 'just  a 
thought  too  good ;  and  I  won't  say  that  feminine  bills  of 
lading  are  always  made  out  true.  Put  'em  in  another  hull's 
the  best  way — let  them  have  their  craft  and  keep  your  own, 
— keep  at  a  safe  distance  and  you  may  sail  on  together 
'most ' — 

'  Sloop  ahoy ! 

12 


266 

The  words  rang  through  the  Old  Thirteen  as  if  she  had 
been  a  speaking  trumpet  herself.  Before  they  had  died 
away  Captain  Pliny  stood  on  the  deck  with  his  own  trumpet 
in  hand. 

'  Old  Thirteen — New  York — Pliny  Cruise,  commander,' 
— the  words  almost  knocked  each  other  down  with  the 
rapidity  of  their  egress. 

•    '  Put  about—'  came  from  the  other  vessel,  which  was  one 
of  the  Government  coasters.     *  Enemy  below.' 

'  What  force?  '  returned  the  Captain. 

*  Frigate — 38  ' — was  the  reply. 

<  How  far  ?  ' 

1  Four  miles.' 

Captain  Pliny  laid  down  his  trumpet  and  turned  to  con 
front  his  passengers,  who  stood  close  behind  him. 

'  I  told  you  so,  Mr.  Clyde,'  he  said.  '  I  shewed  you  a 
Squadron  laid  down  in  my  chart,  as  plain  as  the  old  Point 
herself.  Never  launch  a  feminine  craft  on  no  sea  but  the 
Pacific. 

'  What  is  to  hinder  our  running  for  New  Haven  and  out 
running  the  Frigate  ?  '  said  Thornton. 

1  Might  fall  out  that  we  shouldn't  win  the  race,'  said  the 
Captain. 

'  But  you  run  past  these  frigates  continually  ? ' 

'  Just  so,'  said  the  Captain, — '  I  do,  sartain : — hope  to 
again, — when  there's  only  Pliny  Cruise  aboard  it  don't  sig 
nify.  I'd  rather  be  shot  through  than  have  the  Old  Thirteen 
turn  tail  this  fashion.' 

'  Sloop  ahoy  !  '  came  from,  another  coaster  that  was  bear 
ing  down  upon  them. 

1  Ay,  ay ! '  said  Captain  Pliny  catching  up  his  trumpet 
to  reply, 

'  Frigate  ahead — 38  guns — run  ! '  was  shouted  out  as  the 
vessel  swept  by. 


A   CHASE.  267 

*  Now  there's  a  few  t>f  the  unpleasant'st  words  I '  said  the 
Captain, — '  though  I've  heard  it  all  afore.     Not  a  gun — 'cept 
for  salutes, — I'd  like  to  give  'em  a  kiss  once  ! — Must  be 
done. — put   about   there  ! '  he   shouted, — '  haul   down   her 
colours ! — all  sail  for  New  York  ! '     And  as  he  walked  off 
the  Captain  tried  to  console  himself  with, 

( Can't  run  a  feminine  craft  into  danger — can't — it 
goes  agin  my  conscience.' 

And  as  one  sail  after  another  spread  out  in  its  place,  un 
til  near  all  were  set  that  she  would  carry,  the  Old  Thirteen 
changed  her  course  and  went  scudding  up  the  Sound.  But 
as  if  to  shew  his  good  inclinations,  the  Captain  seated  him 
self  with  his  face  in  the  other  direction  and  sailed  back 
wards. 

1  Pliny  Cruise,'  he  said  to  himself,  *  never  engage  a  cargo 
again  without  knowing  what  it  is.' 

The  wind  held  on  its  way  and  the  vessel  on  hers  without 
interruption ;  but  the  passengers  took  their  tea  alone  and 
Captain  Pliny  would  not  leave  the  deck.  There  Thornton 
found  him  when  he  went  up  at  nine  o'clock,  but  Rosalie  and 
Hulda  remained  below. 

Captain  Pliny  was  on  his  feet  now,  standing  motionless 
at  the  stern  of  the  vessel ;  his  eyes  doing  what  eyes  could  to 
pierce  the  darkness  on  all  sides,  but  especially  in  the  wake 
of  his  own  sloop. 

1  Dark  night,'  said  Thornton  as  he  came  up. 

c  If  we  don't  get  more  light  on  the  subject  afore  another 
hour,  be  thankful,'  said  the  Captain.  *  You  see  them  lights 
astarn  ?  they're  after  us,  as  sure  as  my  name's  what  it  is ; 
and  whichever  of  us  gets  in  first  '11  have  the  best  of  it.' 

*  After  us  ?  '  said  Thornton.     <  The  frigate  ?  ' 

1  Something  less  than  that.'  said  Captain  Pliny, — c  nothing 
more  than  a  sloop,  I  take  it.  But  she  follows  us.  I've 


268  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

veered  once  or  twice  to  try  her,  and  when  she  turns  you  can 
see  eight  mouths  on  a  side.' 

'  Lights  ?  '  said  Thornton. 

'  Ay — at  her  ports,'  said  the  Captain  coolly.  '  I  can't 
tell  yet  which  of  us  gains.' 

Hoa !  ship    ahoa ! '  came    faintly   from    the   pursuing 
vessel. 

*  There  you  are  ! '  said  Captain  Pliny.  *  Mind  your  own 
business  and  leave  Yankees  to  ask  questions.  Make  sail ! ' 
he  added,  turning  quick  about.  '  If  we've  got  to  shew  the 
white  feather  it  shall  be  a  good  one  ! '  And  as  more  and 
more  canvass  was  spread  and  filled  there  came  another  hail 
borne  down  on  the  night  wind. 

'  She'll  speak  louder  next  time,'  said  Captain  Pliny ,- 
*  and  we've  got  no  more  canvass.     Gro  below  Mr.  Clyde,  and 
take  care  of  your  glassware.     What  man  can  do  has  been 
done — what  the  Lord  will  let  him  do.' 

But  Thornton  stood  still. 

Two  or  three  port-hole  lights  appeared  now,  and  presently 
a  brilliant  flash  shot  out  into  the  darkness,  and  a  ball  whizzed 
through  the  mainsail  of  the  little  sloop  which  was  spread  out 
before  the  wind. 

'  Plain  speaking,'  said  Captain  Pliny,  almost  leaning  over 
the  stern  of  the  vessel  in  his  interest.  *  There  comes 
another ; — and  a  third  ; — right  through  her  sails,  both 
on  'em.' 

But  the  fourth  shot  fell  astern. 

1  We  gain  now,'  said  the  Captain  with  a  voice  less  clear 
than  before.  c  I  doubt  Mr.  Clyde  there's  something  stronger 
than  wind  helping  us  on.' 

And  as  if  impelled  by  some  new  power  the  Old  Thirteen 
sped  along,  until  even  the  lights  of  the  pursuing  vessel  grew 
dim  in  the  distance.  Not  until  then  did  Thornton  quit  the 
deck. 


IN   THE   CABIN.  269 

Rosalie  sat  by  Hulda's  bed,  so  motionless  that  her 
brother  at  first  paused  lest  she  might  be  asleep.  But  she 
looked  up,  and  as  he  came  and  sat  down  by  her  she  laid  her 
head  on  his  shoulder,  and  neither  spoke  nor  moved  till  the 
day  broke.  Captain  Pliny's  advice  needed  no  further 
repetition. 


270  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 

O  blessed  nature,  "  O  rus!  0  rus!  " 
"Who  cannot  sigh  for  the  country  thus, 

Absorbed  in  a  worldly  torpor — 
Who  does  not  yearn  for  its  meadow-sweet  breath, 
Untainted  by  care,  and  crime,  and  death, 
And  to  stand  sometimes  upon  grass  or  heath — 

That  soul,  spite  of  gold,  is  a  pauper !— HOOD. 

'  IT'S  an  astonishing  thing  how  much  it  takes  to  kill  folks ! ' 
said  Martha  Jumps  the  morning  after  their  safe  arrival  in 
Massachusetts.  '  Beats  all  my  arithmetic.  Now  here  we 
are,  just  as  'live  as  can  be, — nobody'd  guess  to  look  at  us 
that  we'd  been  chased  and  run  over  and  shot  through.' 

The  scene  was  the  kitchen  of  the  farm  house  where 
Rosalie  was  to  spend  the  summer;  and  as  Miss  Jumps 
looked  out  of  the  open  window  over  a  pleasant  expanse  of 
green  meadows,  cows,  chickens,  and  corn  fields,  agreeably 
diversified  with  a  red  barn  and  a  fair  little  brook ;  the  perils 
of  the  sea  appeared  in  strong  contrast.  Peace  was  the  at 
mosphere  around  everything  in  sight.  The  cattle  cropped 
their  grass  in  a  quiet  leisurely  way,  secure  and  satisfied  ;  the 
shadows  crept  softly  down  the  green  slopes,  aware  of  the 
sun's  pursuit  but  with  no  fear  of  being  caught ;  and  in  the 
uncut  fields  the  grass  waved  to  and  fro  with  the  very  motion 
of  repose.  Swift  of  wing  and  light  of  heart,  the  feather-clad 
tribes  bestirred  themselves  for  breakfast ;  and  filled  up  that 


A   MASSACHUSETTS   MOKNING.  271 

hour  of  the  day  with  a  merry  song  and  chatter  which  did 
honour  to  their  good  sense  and  to  their  business  habits.  No 
such  morning  songster  would  ever  build  his  nest  ill,  or  talk 
while  it  was  a  building,  or  tire  on  the  wing  when  seeking 
food  for  his  family.  Such  joy  with  a  day's  work  before  it, 
said  the  work  would  be  done  well. 

Some  chickens  were  already  in  the  cow  meadow,  circling 
about  the  cattle  as  they  nosed  the  rich  herbage  and  started 
a  thousand  insects ;  and  others  sauntered  along  wherever  a 
chance  grasshopper  or  a  fly-away  butterfly  might  lead  them. 
And  the  little  brook  murmured  of  freshness,  of  coolness,  of 
no  work  but  rest.  And  yet  its  work  was  to  run — and  it  ran, 
— tumbled  too,  occasionally,  but  not  as  if  it  thought  it  hard 
work.  Clearly  the  brook  took  things  by  their  smooth  handle. 
It  ran  not  by  the  road,  upon  which  opened  the  kitchen  win 
dows,  but  through  a  dell  at  the  back  of  the  house — which 
oddly  enough  was  also  the  front.  For  the  house  with  singu 
lar  good  taste  had  set  its  face  to  the  dell,  and  into  that  cool 
shade  looked  the  best  windows  and  the  best  door  ;  leaving 
the  kitchen  and  wood  shed  in  full  possession  of  the  road,  its 
dust,  and  its  passing  wagons.  Even  the  well  with  its  boom 
of  a  water-drawer,  stood  by  the  road-side;  and  visiters 
arriving  in  that  direction  had  their  choice  of  a  walk  through 
or  a  walk  round  the  house. 

'  This  is  a  queer  place  o'  yours,  Mrs.  Hopper,'  said 
Martha  Jumps,  when  she  had  looked  out  of  the  window  for 
the  space  of  one  minute.  *  It  sounds  dreadful  quiet  after 
York.' 

{  Don't  say  ! '  replied  Mrs.  Hopper.  '  Why  there's  a 
noise  here  sometimes  to  that  point,  with  the  chickens  and 
the  dog  and  the  children,  that  I  can't  hear  myself  think.' 

The  voice  issued  from  a  dark  blue  calico  sunbonnet, 
plentifully  sprinkled  with  white  spots,  the  apex  to  a  tall  and 


272  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

slim  pyramid  of  the  same.  Two  brown  hands,  hard  and  sun 
burnt,  but  nervous  and  capable  withal,  rested  on  the  window 
sill ;  and  that  was  the  outward  display  of  Mrs.  Hopper. 

c  I  s'pose  you're  used  to  doin'  with  such  noise  as  you  can 
get,  and  makin'  the  most  of  it,'  said  Martha. 

1 1  guess  I  ought  to  be  used  to  'most  everything  here,' 
said  Mrs  Hopper.  '  All  the  fetching  up  I  ever  got  come 
off  o'  this  farm,  and  my  forbears  lived  here  longer'n  I  can 
count.  It's  a  right  good  one,  too.' 

'  Looks  enough  like  it,'  said  Martha.  *  How  come  you 
to  get  your  house  wrong  side  before  ?  ' 

1  Didn't  get  it,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  as  if  the  words  im 
plied  some  mistake  on  the  part  of  the  house  builder.  '  It 
was  sot  so  a'purpose.' 

*  What  for  ? '  said  Martha. 

{  He  was  a  thoughtful  sort  of  a  man  that  did  it,'  said 
Mrs.  Hopper,  '  and  he  kind  o'  fancied  the  brook  looked  lone 
some.  Kitchen  winders  he  said  ought  to  have  the  sun  on  to 
them, — didn't  make  no  odds  about  the  company  side,  for 
that  warnt  never  used  unless  there  was  company.  When  a 
man's  alone  he  wants  everything  done  to  him,  and  round 
there  he  said  you  couldn't  hear  a  wagon  go  by  once  a  week. 
That's  what  they  say  he  said — them  that's  gone  now.' 

And  Mrs.  Hopper  took  off  her  sunbonnet,  and  having 
carefully  bent  it  into  shape,  she  put  it  on  again  ;  thereby 
giving  a  short  view  of  her  hair,  which  had  much  the  colour 
and  appearance  of  dried  corn  silk,  and  of  a  face  strong  and 
weatherbeaten — useful  but  not  ornamental. 

1  Sunbunnits  is  dreadful  smothery,  aint  they  ? '  said  Miss 
Jumps  as  she  surveyed  the  operation. 

'  Why  my,  no,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper.  c  I  don't  never  feel  as 
though  I  had  a  stitch  o'  clothes  on  about  my  work  without  I 
have  a  bunnit.' 


WITHIN   THE   FARM   HOUSE.  273 

{  Well  I  think  likely  you  don't,'  said  Martha,  c  and  I 
knew  what  that  was  once  myself,  but  I've  got  out  of  the 
fashion.  I  haven't  been  in  the  country  since  I  was  fifteen.' 

*  The  land  sakes  ! '  said  Mrs.  Hopper.  '  How  the  good 
ness  did  you  get  along?  That's  just  Jerushy's  years. 
Jerushy's  real  smart  too,  though  you  wouldn't  think  it  to 
look  at  her;  but  she's  always  enjoyed  such  ill  health.  She 
faints  away  so  easy, — a  little  scare  or  anything  of  that  sort'll 
keel  her  right  over.  I  wouldn't  wonder  now  if  she'd  drop  if 
you  told  her  Abijah  was  coming.' 

Miss  Jumps  naturally  inquired  who  Abijah  might  be. 

1  Abijah  ?  '  said  Mrs.  Hopper — '  why  that's  my  son — 
Abijah  Hopper.  Five  foot  nine  in  his  stockings  and  as 
handsome  as  a  pictur'.  He's  off  to  some  fur'n  country  now, 
fighting  for  his'n.' 

c  How  old  is  he  ?  '   said  Martha. 

1  Just  in  his  two  and  twenty,'  replied  Mrs.  Hopper. 
'  He  was  first  and  then  Jerushy ;  but  Jerushy  never  see  her 
father  to  know  him.' 

1  She  didn't ! '   said  Martha. 

'  No,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper  taking  off  the  sunbonnet  and 
giving  it  another  bend. 

'  Well  who  are  the  children  you  tell  about  ? '  said 
Martha. 

1  Not  mine,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper — '  The  neighbour's  sap 
lings  come  in  here  whiles  and  raise  Cain  with  Jerushy.' 

4  Got  pleasant  neighbours  here  ?  '  said  Martha. 

'  Pleasant  enough  as  folks  run — '  said  Mrs.  Hopper, — 
1  and  that's  pretty  much  like  a  flock  o'  sheep.     There's  some 
fine  families.     But  this  won't  make  my  child  a  frock,'  she 
added,  tying  her  sunbonnet  with  great  vigour  and  tightness 
(  What  time  does  your  folks  breakfast  ?  ' 
12* 


274  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

*  0  just  when  they  take  a  notion,'  said  Martha  impos 
ingly- 

'  That's  the  time  o'  day,  is  it?'  said  Mrs.  Hopper. 
'  Then  I'll  tell  you  what,  they'll  have  to  get  it  without  me. 
I  have  to  pour  out  coffee  bright  and  early  for  the  men  folks, 
and  it  saves  time  to  eat  as  I  go  along.  And  two  breakfasts 
in  a  morning  is  one  too  many  for  my  appetite.' 

'  I  guess  they'll  all  be  glad  o'  the  spare  one.'  said  Mar 
tha.  l  I'm  hungry,  for  one.' 

1  You  look  as  if  you  was  used  to  that — stall  fed,'  said  Mrs. 
Hopper.  *  But  Jerushy  can  fry  the  eggs  as  good  as  I  can, 
every  bit — whenever  they  do  get  up, — and  there's  bread  and 
btftter  enough  in  the  pantry — cheese  too  if  they  like  it ;  and 
pies,  real  good  ones.  Tell  'em  to  eat  all  they  can  lay  their 
hands  on.' 

1  They  always  have  their  eggs  boiled,'  said  Martha. 

'  Then  they  don't  know  what's  good,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper. 
1  But  it's  nothing  to  me  if  they  eat  'em  raw.  There's  eggs 
enough,  and  water  enough,  and  kettles  enough — fire  enough 
too,  for  that  matter;  but  if  I'm  not  up  to  the  store  in  a  jiffy 
Squire  Hubbard  '11  be  off  with  my  quarter  of  mutton.  He 
owes  me  two  now.' 

And  Mrs.  Hopper  departed  ;  leaving  Martha  in  great 
admiration  of  her  smartness  and  liberality,  to  get  breakfast 
with  Jerusha,  who  was  a  chip  of  the  same  block.  Or  rather 
a  ivJtittling — with  very  faint  blue  eyes  and  a  tongue  that 
was  strong  in  proportion. 

With  this  young  lady's  able  assistance  and  conversation, 
Martha  prepared  both  table  and  breakfast  admirably ;  and 
Rosalie  found  but  one  thing  wanting  to  her  comfort.  Now 
that  the  time  was  come  for  parting  with  her  brother,  she  felt 
the  old  painful  doubt  of  it  grow  stronger ;  and  often  wished 
that  she  had  refused  to  leave  the  city.  Sometimes  she  half 


IN   SILENCE.  275 

resolved  to  go  back  with  him ;  and  then  a  look  at  Hulda's 
face,  already  brightening  in  the  pure  air,  kept  her  silent. 
And  silent  the  whole  breakfast  time  was.  But  after  break 
fast,  when  the  table  was  cleared  and  Hulda  had  gone  out  to 
inspect  clover  heads,  Thornton  spoke. 

'  I  hope  you  feel  satisfied  with  your  farm  house,  Alie  ? ' 

'  I  should  be,  if  you  were  to  be  in  it.' 

1 1  thank  you  my  dear — I  ain  afraid  I  should  not.' 

{ I  have  been  wishing  this  morning  that  I  had  not  come 
or  that  I  was  going  back  with  you.' 

'  Thank  you  for  that  too,'  he  said,  drawing  back  her  hair 
and  kissing  her, '  but  I  do  not  join  in  the  wish.' 

They  stood  silent  again ;  and  the  little  wagon  that  was 
to  take  him  to  meet  the  stage  came  slowly  out  of  the  barn, 
and  was  attached  to  its  locomotive. 

'  What  commands,  Alie  ? '  said  Thornton  then.  '  I 
must  be  off,  my  dear,  in  five  minutes.' 

She  turned  and  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  after  her 
old  fashion,  and  looked  at  him,  and  did  not  speak.  Her 
heart  was  too  full,  each  word  that  came  to  her  lips  seemed 
too  weak ;  and  without  words  the  brother  and  sister  parted. 

'  "  He  is  able  to  keep  that  wliick  I  have  committed  to 
him"  '  Rosalie  thought,  as  she  saw  Thornton  drive  off  and 
caught  the  last  wave  of  his  hand.  And  quitting  the  window 
she  sat  down  and  took  her  Bible.  Not  to  read,  but  to  turn 
over  leaf  after  leaf;  catching  here  and  there  a  word  of  com 
fort,  a  word  of  hope,  a  word  of  strength  ;  until  the  promises 
had  done  their  work.  Her  lips  lost  their  nervous  trembling, 
and  with  a  few  long  breaths  the  heart  beat  easier ;  and  lay 
ing  her  head  down  upon  the  closed  book  Rosalie  cried  her 
self  to  sleep. 

'  Well  this  is  a  pretty  state  of  things ! '  said  Miss  Jumps 
when  she  came  in  to  set  the  table  for  dinner.  '  Here's 


276  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

everything  ready — and  the  mutton  '11  be  rags,  and  no  living 
creature  can  tell  what  the  potatoes  '11  be.  Pickles  '11  keep 
— that's  one  thing,  and  so  '11  bread, — and  she  wants  it  bad 
enough  in  all  conscience.'  And  softly  closing  the  door  at 
the  end  of  her  soliloquy,  Martha  retired. 


MOTHER    BAYSTATE. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


But  my  good  mother  Baystate  wants  no  praise  of  mine, 

She  learned  from  her  mother  a  precept  divine 

About  something  that  butters  no  parsnips,  her  forte 

In  another  direction  lies,  work  is  her  sport, 

(Though  she'll  curtsey  and  set  her  cap  straight,  that  she  will, 

If  you  talk  about  Plymouth  and  one  Bunker's  HMl.) 

FABLE  FOR  CRITICS. 


How  lovely  it  was !  how  fresh,  how  sweet ! — with  what  a 
fair  face  did  Massachusetts  welcome  the  summer.  Ceres 
followed  close  on  the  steps  of  her  labourers,  and  the  young 
grain  with  its  vivid  green  hue  was  fast  shooting  up  into  per 
fection.  The  potato  fields  with  their  long  alternate  lines  of 
brown  and  green,  the  corn  fields  with  their  tufted  crop ;  and 
meadows  in  the  mowing  stage,  and  others  that  were  one 
spread  of  red  clover  blossoms ;  swelled  upon  the  hills  and 
sloped  down  into  the  valleys,  and  were  dovetailed  into  each 
other  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  Everything  about  the 
farms  and  about  the  houses  had  that  perfectly  done  up  look, 
which  shewed  the  owners  quick  of  eye  and  hand.  The  fence 
rails  were  up,  the  bar-place  stood  steady,  the  gates  swung 
freely  and  shut  tight.  And  vines  were  trained,  and  wood 
sheds  full,  and  barns  and  outhouses  in  good  order.  The  cat 
tle  too  looked  sleek,  and  the  many-coloured  droves  of  horses 


278  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

gambaded  afeout  the  fields  with  the  very  friskiness  of  freedom 
and  good  living.  Content  was  the  very  atmosphere  of  the 
region. 

But  Rosalie  found  it  hard  to  get  used  to  her  new  way  of 
life.  She  loved  its  quietness  with  all  her  heart,  but  it  gave 
her  more  thinking  time  than  was  quite  good  for  her.  For 
with  a  heart  in  itself  perfectly  in  tune  with  all  the  sweet 
sounds  and  influences  that  were  around  her,  she  wanted  a 
little  of  Hulda's  untouched  joyousness  to  take  their  full 
benefit.  As  it  was  they  often  set  her  a  musing, — as  often 
perhaps  made  her  grave  as  gay.  Constantly  the  image  of 
Thornton  would  present  itself;  and  '  what  is  he  doing  ?  '  was 
no  resting  question, — she  wearied  herself  with  asking  what 
there  was  none  to  answer.  She  tried  to  throw  the  burden 
off,  and  yet  the  shadow  of  it  remained ;  and  like  a  fair  plant 
deprived  of  the  sunlight,  he.r  colour  grew  more  and  more  del 
icate.  Little  Hulda  was  every  day  gaining  strength  and 
health,  and  her  gambols  were  almost  her  sister's  only  amuse 
ment  ;  but  even  from  them  Rosalie  sometimes  turned  away, 
with  a  sickness  at  heart  that  refused  to  be  forgotten. 

For  a  while  after  Thornton  left  her,  he  wrote  long  letters, 
for  him,  and  often;  but  then  they  dwindled,  and  became 
angel's  visits  only  in  the  length  of  time  between.  Yet  his 
sister  craved  even  them  most  eagerly,  and  each  time  hoped 
to  find  more  words  and  those  more  comforting.  The  change 
was  the  other  way ;  and  well  she  felt  that  they  would  have 
been  longer  had  the  writer  been  better  satisfied  with  himself, 
— «that  if  the  stream  of  his  daily  thought  and  action  had 
flowed  in  a  purer  channel,  it  would  have  turned  with  a  fuller 
gush  towards  her.  He  was  going  on  then  just  in  the  old 
way,  and  she  was  not  there  to  use  even  her  weak  efforts. 
And  sometimes  unbelief  was  ready  to  ask  why  ? — and  when 
faith  bade  her  wait, — then  came  back  the  old  Captain's  quo- 


THERE   ALWAYS   IS   SOMETHING.  279 

tation — "  It  seemed  as  if  '  I  waited  for  light  and  behold  ob 
scurity.'  " 

1  It  aint  none  o'  my  business,  I  do  suppose,'  said  Mrs. 
Hopper  one  day,  when  she  had  followed  Rosalie  out  to  the 
edge  of  the  ravine  and  stood  within  three  feet  of  her  for  some 
time  without  being  observed  ;  (  and  'taint  likely  I'll  get  many 
thanks  for  speaking ;  but  it  does  appear  to  me,  Miss  Clyde, 
that  you  want  shaking  up.' 

1  I  ! '  said  Rosalie  starting. 

'  Why  yes,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  c  you.  What's  the  use 
o'  coining  out  here  to  stand'n  look  at  that  brook — jus'  as  if 
it  hadn't  been  running  as  hard  as  it  could  ever  since  the 
deluge.' 

'  But  it's  a  pretty  thing  to  look  at,'  said  Rosalie. 

c  Maybe  it  is — '  said  Mrs.  Hopper, — '  I'm  not  in  that 
line  o'  business  myself.  J'd  rather  look  at  a  mill  tail.  Do 
you  more  good  too.  Don't  that  everlasting  spattering  down 
there  make  you  think  of  all  the  friends  you  ever  had  or  ex 
pected  ? ' 

'  What  makes  you  imagine  such  a  thing  ?  '  said  Rosalie. 

(  Looked  as  if  you'd  been  talkin  with  half  of  'em,  to  say 
the  least.  Now  I've  always  got  too  much  to  do  for  my 
friends  to  sit'n  think  about  'em.' 

'  Suppose  there  was  nothing  else  you  could  do,  Mrs. 
Hopper  V '  said  Rosalie. 

'  Then  I'd  take  good  care  of  myself  for  'em — besides 
there  always  is  something — one  thing  or  'tother.  Folks  that 
can  work,  can  work  ;  and  folks  that  can  write,  can  write ; 
and  folks  that  can  pray,  can  pray,  one  would  suppose, — and 
believe  too.' 

But  Rosalie  turned  to  her  a  face  so  submissive  to  this 
last  reproof,  that  Mrs  Hopper  had  no  heart  to  give  more. 

'  Now  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,'  she  said,  '  my  tongue's  as 


280  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

rough  as  a  card,  I  know,  but  it  don't  want  to  stroke  things 
the  wrong  way;  'n  it  makes  me  feel  queer  to  have  you 
gettin'  thin  on  the  place — and  payin'  so  handsome  too — 
which  nobody  ever  did  afore,  nary  one.  To  be  sure  you  do 
run  round  after  that  child  all  day,  but  it's  a  question  which 
way  that  works.' 

'  What  would  you  like  to  have  me  do  ? '  said  Rosalie 
smiling. 

I  Will  you  do  it  ?  '  said  Mrs.  Hopper. 

I 1  will  try.' 

1  Just  let  Hulda  run  round  by  herself  a  spell  then,'  said 
Mrs.  Hopper — ( I'll  have  an  eye  to  her — and  you  get  on  one 
of  the  farm  horses  and  trot  off  to  seek  your  fortune.  I  tell 
you  old  Lord  North  '11  shake  up  a  person's  ideas  so  you 
wouldn't  know  'em  again  afterward  ! ' 

'  Is  Lord  North  one  of  the  farm  horses  ?  '  said  Rosalie. 

'  Why  yes,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  taking  off  her  sunbonnet 
and  straightening  the  edge ;  '  Stamp  act  and  Lord  North 
— he  called  'em  so  because  he  hadn't  no  patience  with  Lord 
North.  However  the  horse  behaves  better  'n  lie  did,  by 
a  long  jump,  and  so  does  Stamp.  Will  you  try  him  ?  ' 

1  If  I  can  get  a  saddle  and  skirt — and  find  a  day  when 
the  horse  is  not  ploughing.' 

'He  won't  plough  with  you  on  his  back,'  said  Mrs.  Hop 
per,  '  and  you  might  do  worse  if  he  did.  The  saddle  's  easy 
enough — what  ails  the  frock  you  have  on  ?  ' 

'  0  it's  too  short, — I  will  get  some  stuff  and  make  one.' 

*  That's  long  enough,  for  gracious,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper — 
'  you  might  as  well  not  have  tops  to  your  feet,  now ;  but  fix 
it  any  way  you  like.  I'll  get  some  Indian  wilier  and  twist 
you  up  a  first  rate  rattan.  See  if  that  don't  put  a  little 
genuine  red  in  your  cheeks.  All  you've  got  now  just  makes 
you  look  whiter.  Don't  you  want  to  go  up  to  the  sewin' 


THE   SCHOOLHOUSE.  281 


meetin  this  afternoon?  they'd  be  tickled  to  death  to  see 
you,  and  If  you  can't  knit  you  can  look  on.' 

*  I  will  go  anywhere  you  have  a  mind  to  take  me,'  said 
Kosalie,  with  a  hearty  appreciation  of  the  good  will  of  her 
hostess. 

'  Well  now  that's  clever,1  said  Mrs  Hopper.  '  I  like  to 
see  folks  that  have  got  some  reason  into  them.  And  I 
s'pose  you  won't  mind  your  Martha's  going  along, — times 
when  all  the  men  fight  together  'twon't  hurt  the  women  to 
knit,  I  guess.  But  I  don't  believe  now  you'd  be  a  bit  stuck 
up  in  the  best  o'  times — I'll  say  that  for  you,  and  you're 
the  first  city  body  I  ever  did  say  it  for.' 

The  sewing  meeting — which  might  more  properly  have 
been  called  a  knitting  meeting — met  that  afternoon  in  a  tall 
white  house  by  the  roadside,  which  having  neither  porch  nor 
vines  nor  piazza,  nor  even  a  wing,  presented  a  singularly 
bare  and  staring  appearance.  It  being  generally  supposed  how 
ever,  that  juvenile  seats  of  learning  should  be  as  unattractive 
as  possible,  this  was  quite  in  order,  and  might  be  claimed  as 
a  model.  Straight,  square,  the  windows  drawn  up  like  the 
multiplication  table,  the  doors  at  either  end,— the  building 
was  highly  fitted  to  inspire  its  tenants  with  a  love  for  ir 
regularities  of  any  kind.  Even  the  white  paling  was  angled 
by  rule,  and  equally  distant  from  the  house  on  every  side. 

At  twelve  o'clock  that  day  the  school  had  been  dis 
missed  for  the  usual  Saturday  afternoon  holiday  ;  and  so 
soon  thereafter  as  dinner  could  be  eaten  and  cleared  away, 
ones  and  twos  and  threes  of  the  feminine  population  of 
White  Oak,  began  to  approach  the  angular  schoolhouse 
paling.  Some  few  in  straw  bonnets  with  knots  of  gay 
ribbon,  but  the  most  in  calico  sunbonnets,- — made  it  is  true 
after  very  different  patterns — ruffled  and  unruffled,  corded, 
•pasteboarded,  and  quilted ;  but  each  with  its  long  depend- 


282  MY   BROTHER^   KEEPER. 

ing  cape,  and  its  somewhat  careworn  and  hardfeatured  face 
beneath. 

Hardfeatured  not  by  nature  but  by  work, — staid,  and 
combed  down,  as  their  hair  was  combed  back ;  and  with  a 
certain  mingling  of  sober,  subdued,  wide  awake,  and  ener 
getic,  in  the  general  look  and  mien,  which  spoke  a  life  of 
work  and  emergency  that  each  one  must  meet  for  herself, 
and  could.  The  mere  walk  of  these  women  as  they  con 
verged  towards  the  schoolhouse,  spoke  energy  and  inde 
pendence, — there  was  freedom  and  self  assertion  in  the  very 
gait ;  yet  more  of  the  feeling  which  says  *  I  am  as  good  as 
you  are,'  than  of  that  which  would  say  f  I  am  better.' 
Neighbours  of  very  different  standing  indeed  (as  to  wealth 
and  name)  exchanged  most  affable  salutations;  though  al 
ways  with  that  same  air  of  gravity  which  seems  chosen  by 
our  country  people  as  more  dignified  thaa  a  smile. 

Some — especially  the  younger  women — carried  fanciful 
and  gay  coloured  workbags,  from  the  top  of  which  stuck  out 
brjght  knitting-needles ;  but  more  had  their  work  in  their 
pockets  or  merely  wrapped  together  in  their  hands,  just  as 
it  had  been  caught  up  from  the  window  sill,  with  perhaps  a 
twisted  skein  or  two  of  yarn  to  bear  it  company.  One  or 
two  were  even  knitting  as  they  walked  along. 

'  I  wouldn't  wonder  a  bit  if  we  were  late,'  said  Mrs.  Hop 
per,  as  they  went  up  the  little  slope  down  which  the  boys  used 
to  rush  with  accelerated  speed  the  moment  school  was  let  out. 
*  Mis'  Clipper's  bunnet's  gone  in,  and  she  aint  apt  to  be  the 
first  apple  that  falls.' 

A  steady  murmur  that  issued  from  one  of  the  end  doors 
seemed  to  confirm  this  suspicion,  and  when  they  entered 
the  room  it  was  quite  full.  That  is  it  was  well  lined,  for 
everybody  sat  back  against  the  wall, — and  there  was  a  per 
fect  glitter  of  knitting-needles.  Knit,  knit,  knit,  knit, — 


THE   SEWING   MEETING.-  283 

here  a  grey  sock  and  there  a  blue  mitten  and  there  a  scarlet 
comforter ;  while  the  knitters  went  carelessly  on  with  their 
talk, looked  out  of  the  window  and  at  each  other's  work,  got  up 
and  crossed  the  floor  and  came  back  again,  and  never  stayed 
their  fingers  for  an  instant.  Eyesight  seemed  needless— 
except  to  examine  Miss  Clyde  when  she  appeared,  and  to 
form  an  exact  opinion  as  to  her  dress.  One  or  two  of  the 
younger  ones,  who  had  worn  straw  bonnets  to  the  meeting, 
laid  down  their  work  for  a  minute  till  the  new  arrival  had 
taken  her  seat,  but  the  others  knit  on  as  fast  as  ever  ;  with 
merely  a  '  Hope  you're  well  Miss  Clyde,'  from  those  who 
felt  best  acquainted. 

At  the  further  end  of  the  room  a  large  wheel  flew  round 
and  round,  under  the  hands  of  a  brisk  young  lady  who 
stepped  back  and  forth  with  very  creaking  shoes ;  and  the 
bright  little  spindle  whirr-r-red !  off  the  yarn  with  consum 
mate  neatness  and  speed. 

'  What  will  you  set  me  about  ?  '  said  Rosalie,  when  she 
had  found  a  place — not  of  rest — upon  one  of  the  hard 
wooden  chairs.  '  Shall  I  wind  some  yarn  ?  ' 

*  A  person  can  do  that  for  himself  about  as  handy,'  said 
one  of  the  company,  who  with  her  right  knee  a  rest  for  the 
left  had  elevated  her  left  toe  into  the  air,  where  it  did  duty 
as  a  reel. 

4  What  then  ?  '  said  Rosalie.  '  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  knit 
fast  enough  to  be  of  much  use  in  that  way.' 

'  Every  roll  makth  one  leth,  Mith  Clyde,'  said  the  brisk 
little  spinner,  stooping  as  she  spoke  to  take  another  from 
the  bundle  that  lay  across  the  wheel. 

*  Yes,  if  I  could  turn  them  off  as  fast   as  you  do,'  said 
Rosalie. 

'  Maria  Jane  does  spin  fast,'  observed  Mrs.  Clipper. 

*  But  look  a  here,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  '  there's  just  that 


284  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

one  wheel — and  I  don't  s'pose  any  one  here's  got  spare 
knittin'  work.' 

Nobody  had. 

f  There's  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  look  on  then,'  said 
Mrs.  Hopper. 

'  What  ails  her  to  read  the  news  ?  ?  said  the  postmaster's 
wife  producing  a  paper  from  her  pocket.  This  only  just 
come  from  York  ;  and  he  brought  it  when  he  came  in  this 
noon  and  then  went  off  and  left  it  after  all.  So  thinks  I 
I'll  take  it  along — the  children  won't  get  it  anyway.' 

This  motion  was  much  approved  ;  and  with  exemplary 
patience  and  distinctness  Miss  Clyde  read  the  paper  for  the 
benefit  of  the  meeting.  Nor  without  interest  to  herself;  for 
there  was  much  that  she  wanted  to  know. 

A  few  paragraphs  read,  such  as  '  Battle  of  Bridgewater ' 
— '  Truly  British  account,'  &c.  then  came, 

"  Phoebe  and  Essex — before  the  capture  of  the  latter." 

'  Before  the  capture  of  the  latter ! '  said  Mrs.  Hopper 
dropping  her  work.  '  Why  when  on  earth  or  on  water  was 
the  Essex  taken  ?  ' 

'  It  does  not  say, — it  refers  to  some  former  account.' 

( We  lost  our  last  paper,'  remarked  the  postmaster's 
wife. 

'  Then  Abijah  Hopper's  a  prisoner  and  I  knew  no  more 
of  it  than  a  baby  ! '  said  his  mother. 

There  was  a  pause,  even  of  the  knitting-needles,  and  then 
Mrs.  Clipper  vouchsafed  to  say, 

1  He  mayn't  be  took,  Mis'  Hopper — he  might  ha'  got 
away.' 

*  Got  away ! '  said  Mrs.  Hopper  contemptuously — i  skim 
ming  over  the  ocean  like  a  sea-duck  !  And  what  did  he  go 
to  sea  for,  I  should  like  to  know  1 ' 

'  Didn't  go  to  be  took,  did  he  ?  '  ventured  Mrs.  Clipper. 


FORTIFICATIONS.  285 

'  Yes  he  did,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper — £  when  his  time  come 
and  he  couldn't  help  it.' 

' '  Taint  worth  while  to  fret  till  you  do  know,  Mith 
Hopper,'  said  Maria  Jane  from  her  wheel. 

1 1  should  like  to  see  myself  at  it,'  said  Mrs  Hopper, 
the  little  burst  of  indignation  having  been  eminently  useful 
in  keeping  down  her  anxiety.  *  Read  straight  on  Miss 
Clyde — don't  stop  for  half  a  piece  of  news.' 

Rosalie  read  straight  on. 

"  Fortifications  at  Brooklyn." 

"  On  Tuesday  morning  last,  the  artillery  company  of 
Capt.  Clyde  (reinforced  to  the  number  of  about  70  by  volun 
teers  from  the  seventh  ward)  with  the  officers  of  the  third 
brigade  of  infantry  under  Gen.  Mapes,  repaired  to  Brook 
lyn  for  the  purpose  of  commencing  the  additional  fortifica 
tions  for  the  defence  of  this  city.  They  broke  ground  about 
8  o'clock  under  a  salute  from  a  6  pounder  of  Capt.  Clyde's, 
on  the  heights  southeast  of  the  Wallabout.  Gren.  Swift 
superintended  their  construction,  attended  by  alderman  Buck- 
master,  of  the  corporation  committee  of  defence ;  and  Major 
Raynor,  commandant  of  the  district,  with  others,  visited  and 
remained  with  them  through  the  morning.  The  weather 
was  extremely  fine,  the  situation  airy  and  the  prospect 
beautiful  and  commanding  ;  and  the  labour  was  begun  with 
a  degree  of  cheerfulness  and  alacrity  highly  honourable  to 
the  gentlemen  concerned. 

"  The  societies  of  Printers,  Cabinetmakers,  Tanners  and 
Curriers,  Cordwainers,  Butchers,  House-carpenters,  Pilots, 
officers  of  the  10th  brigade  infantry,  of  the  3d  regt.  artillery, 
students  of  medicine,  sixty  hands  of  the  wire  factory,  and 
many  others  not  mentioned,  have  already  volunteered  one 
day's  labour  to  the  construction  of  these  works." 

"  The  Printers  being  employed  yesterday  at  Brooklyn 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

c  Make  the  bread,  Martha  ? — what  upon  earth  for  should 
you  spoil  a  batch  of  flour  ?  I've  got  my  hands  yet — feet  too, 
— if  I  haven't  got  every  else.' 

And  with  the  pent-up  torrent  whirling  her  in  its  grasp, 
she  would  go  round  the  house  and  do  two  women's  work  at 
once.  But  if  perchance  Rosalie  came  to  seek  her — or  with 
out  seeking  came  in  her  way  ;  and  she  met  the  sweet  look 
that  had  known  its  own  sorrow,  and  felt  hers, — Mrs.  Hopper 
gave  way  at  once ;  and  dropping  whatever  she  had  in  her 
hand  would  sit  down,  and  as  she  expressed  it  '  have  her  cry 
out ' — then  and  there. 

'  I  aint  a  bit  better  than  a  fool  when  I  come  across  you,' 
she  said  on  one  of  these  occasions,  when  the  tears  were  spent 
for  the  time,  and  she  had  looked  up  and  saw  Rosalie  still 
standing  by  her. 

1  It  isn't  best  to  keep  up  always,'  said  Rosalie  gently, 
and  sitting  down  by  her  on  the  stairs. 

'  Oh  my !  '  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  leaning  her  head  back 
against  the  wall — and  there  was  a  world  of  expression  in  the 
words.  c  I  .have  to  keep  up  out  there,  or  that  child  would 
drive  the  life  out  of  me.  She  feels  pretty  much  as  Noah 
did  when  the  flood  come  and  took  all  away.  She  aint  used 
to  trouble  yet,  poor  thing — and  'twon't  do  her  no  good  to 
get  used  to  this  sort.  There's  no  more  brothers  to  lose  for 
her.' 

Rosalie  almost  shivered  at  the  words,  and  for  a  moment 
she  did  not  speak.  Then  her  hand  was  laid  softly  upon 
Mrs.  Hopper's. 

'  When  the  flood  came  and  took  all  away,  those  that  were 
in  the  ark  were  safe,'  she  said. 

The  hands,  toil-worn  and  toil-hardened,  closed  upon  that 
little  white  messenger  of  sympathy ;  and  Mrs.  Hopper 
leaned  her  face  down  upon  them,  the  tears  again  streaming 
down  her  checks. 


ROUGH  GOING  BUT  BEAUTIFUL.       289 

*  Don't  you  fret  yourself,'  she  said,  looking  up  after  a 
while.  '  I'll  feel  better  when  he's  come  and  I've  done  all  I 
can  for  him.  And  I've  got  to  go  see  to  things  afore  this 
day  goes  over  my  head.  Would  you  mind  going  too  ?  It 
sha'n't  be  anywhere  to  hurt  you.' 

Rosalie  readily  promised  her  company. 

4  Then  I'll  come  for  you  when  I'm  ready,'  said  Mrs. 
Hopper,  *  and  we'll  slip  out  o'  the  front  door  and  down  the 
brook, — I  don't  want  Jerushy  to  go.'  And  hearing  a  step 
she  started  up  and  went  off. 

After  dinner  as  Rosalie  sat  alone  in  her  room,  Mrs. 
Hopper  came  softly  in,  with  her  sunbonnet  held  down  by 
her  side ;  and  the  two  went  out  of  the  front  door  and  were 
soon  hid  in  the  trees  that  hung  over  the  dell. 

'  I  sent  'em  all  off  into  the  garden  to  look  for  a  hen's 
nest,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  as  they  descended  towards  the 
brook,  '  so  we've  got  ten  minutes  clear,  and  that's  enough. 
Miss  Clyde,  you  aint  one  of  the  folks  that's  easily  frighted, 
be  you  ? ' 

'  I  never  was  much  tried,'  said  Rosalie,  *  but  I  think  I 
may  say  no.' 

c  Some  is  so  'feerd  o'  death  and  all  that  sort  o'  thing,' 
said  Mrs.  Hopper,  '  that  they'd  only  ha'  plagued  me.'  And 
without  further  explanation  she  began  to  follow  the  brook  in 
its  course,  with  an  air  of  business  determination  that  seemed 
a  relief  to  her  mind, — bestowing  no  more  words  upon 
Rosalie,  but  never  failing  to  give  her  a  hand  in  the  difficult 
places. 

It  was  rough  going  but  beautiful.  The  large  moss- 
covered  stones,  dripping  with  the  spray  of  the  brook,  stood 
in  and  athwart  its  bed ;  now  turning  the  course  of  the  bright 
water,  and  now  shining  beneath  its  rush  as  through  a  trans 
parent  veil.  And  at  every  turn  almost,  the  stream  broke 
13 


288  MY 

'  Make  the  bread,  Martha  ? — what  upon  earth  for  should 
you  spoil  a  batch  of  flour  ?  I've  got  my  hands  yet — feet  too, 
— if  I  haven't  got  every  else.' 

And  with  the  pent-up  torrent  whirling  her  in  its  grasp, 
she  would  go  round  the  house  and  do  two  women's  work  at 
once.  But  if  perchance  Rosalie  came  to  seek  her — or  with 
out  seeking  came  in  her  way  ;  and  she  met  the  sweet  look 
that  had  known  its  own  sorrow,  and  felt  hers, — Mrs.  Hopper 
gave  way  at  once ;  and  dropping  whatever  she  had  in  her 
hand  would  sit  down,  and  as  she  expressed  it  '  have  her  cry 
out ' — then  and  there. 

'  I  aint  a  bit  better  than  a  fool  when  I  come  across  you,' 
she  said  on  one  of  these  occasions,  when  the  tears  were  spent 
for  the  time,  and  she  had  looked  up  and  saw  Rosalie  still 
standing  by  her. 

'  It  isn't  best  to  keep  up  always,'  said  Rosalie  gently, 
and  sittiog  down  by  her  on  the  stairs. 

'  Oh  my !  '  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  leaning  her  head  back 
against  the  wall — and  there  was  a  world  of  expression  in  the 
words.  '  I  .have  to  keep  up  out  there,  or  that  child  would 
drive  the  life  out  of  me.  She  feels  pretty  much  as  Noah 
did  when  the  flood  come  and  took  all  away.  She  aint  used 
to  trouble  yet,  poor  thing — and  'twon't  do  her  no  good  to 
get  used  to  this  sort.  There's  no  more  brothers  to  lose  for 
her.' 

Rosalie  almost  shivered  at  the  words,  and  for  a  moment 
she  did  not  speak.  Then  her  hand  was  laid  softly  upon 
Mrs.  Hopper's. 

'  When  the  flood  came  and  took  all  away,  those  that  were 
in  the  ark  were  safe,'  she  said. 

The  hands,  toil-worn  and  toil-hardened,  closed  upon  that 
little  white  messenger  of  sympathy ;  and  Mrs.  Hopper 
leaned  her  face  down  upon  them,  the  tears  again  streaming 
down  her  cheeks. 


EOUGH  GOING  BUT  BEAUTIFUL.       289 

*  Don't  you  fret  yourself,'  she  said,  looking  up  after  a 
while.  *  I'll  feel  better  when  he's  come  and  I've  done  all  I 
can  for  him.  And  I've  got  to  go  see  to  things  afore  this 
day  goes  over  my  head.  "Would  you  mind  going  too  ?  It 
sha'n't  be  anywhere  to  hurt  you.' 

Rosalie  readily  promised  her  company. 

1  Then  I'll  come  for  you  when  I'm  ready,'  said  Mrs. 
Hopper,  '  and  we'll  slip  out  o'  the  front  door  and  down  the 
brook, — I  don't  want  Jerushy  to  go.'  And  hearing  a  step 
she  started  up  and  went  off. 

After  dinner  as  Rosalie  sat  alone  in  her  room,  Mrs. 
Hopper  came  softly  in,  with  her  sunbonnet  held  down  by 
her  side ;  and  the  two  went  out  of  the  front  door  and  were 
soon  hid  in  the  trees  that  hung  over  the  dell. 

(  I  sent  'em  all  off  into  the  garden  to  look  for  a  hen's 
nest,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  as  they  descended  towards  the 
brook,  c  so  we've  got  ten  minutes  clear,  and  that's  enough. 
Miss  Clyde,  you  aint  one  of  the  folks  that's  easily  frighted, 
be  you  ? ' 

'  I  never  was  much  tried,'  said  Rosalie,  '  but  I  think  I 
may  say  no.' 

c  Some  is  so  'feerd  o'  death  and  all  that  sort  o'  thing,1 
said  Mrs.  Hopper,  '  that  they'd  only  ha'  plagued  me.'  And 
without  further  explanation  she  began  to  follow  the  brook  in 
its  course,  with  an  air  of  business  determination  that  seemed 
a  relief  to  her  mind, — bestowing  no  more  words  upon 
Rosalie,  but  never  failing  to  give  her  a  hand  in  the  difficult 
places. 

It  was  rough  going  but  beautiful.  The  large  moss- 
covered  stones,  dripping  with  the  spray  of  the  brook,  stood 
in  and  athwart  its  bed ;  now  turning  the  course  of  the  bright 
water,  and  now  shining  beneath  its  rush  as  through  a  trans 
parent  veil.  And  at  every  turn  almost,  the  stream  broke 
13 


290  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

into  little  waterfalls,  with  their  mimic  roar  and  tiny  eddies  of 
foam  and  mock  wrecks — twigs  and  dry  leaves  and  acorns ; 
and  in  one  or  two  places  a  fallen  tree  had  thought  to  stop 
the  brook, — but  the  brook  leaped  it  and  went  its  way  laugh 
ing.  Rich  ferns  grew  in  the  moist  earth  at  the  brook  edge ; 
and  lichens  crept  over  the  rocks,  and  maiden-hair  spread 
forth  its  delicate  leaf.  Fall  flowers  were  there  too, — gentian 
and  the  pretty  lady's  tress,  and  the  purple  gerardia.  But 
Mrs.  Hopper  went  past  them  or  over  them  without  a  look, 
and  did  not  '  draw  bridle '  until  she  reached  the  foot  of  the 
dell  and  met  the  yellow  light  that  came  streaming  in  from 
the  open  meadow.  Then  she  turned  and  looked  at  her  com 
panion. 

'  I  do  believe  I've  run  you  well  nigh  off  your  feet,'  she 
said. 

'  0  no — I  am  not  tired.' 

'  Hold  on  a  bit  further,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  '  'taint  far.' 
And  crossing  the  brook  she  took  the  diagonal  of  the  broad 
meadow  through  which  it  wandered;  its  banks  gay  with 
autumn's  embroidery.  The  summer  crop  of  grass  had  long 
been  cut,  and  over  the  short  after-growth  tall  cardinal  flowers 
reared  their  scarlet  heads,  and  rich  golden  rods  bowed  and 
bent  over  the  rippling  water  ;  and  lady's  tresses  and  gentian 
had  followed  it  from  the  dell.  A  flock  of  sheep  were  nib 
bling  about  the  meadow,  and  as  the  two  intruders  came"  up 
went  bounding  off,  taking  now  one  bend  of  the  brook  and 
now  another  in  their  way.  And  straight  to  the  further 
corner  of  the  meadow  Mrs.  Hopper  pursued  her  course,  and 
over  the  rail  fence  which  there  went  angling  about  as  if  to 
stop  her.  There  was  an  immediate  rise  in  the  ground  be 
yond,  into  a  stony  and  scantily  clad  hill;  along  the  base  of 
which  ran  a  little  footpath.  Slowly  taking  the  first  steps  on 
this  path,  Mrs.  Hopper  turned  again  and  spoke  to  Eosalie. 


THE  STONE-CUTTER'S.  291 

'  We're  all  but  there — see,  yonder's  the  place,'  and  she 
pointed  to  a  little  stone-built  habitation,  which  crouched 
humbly  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  as  if  asking  shelter.  A  few 
slow  paces,  and  then  resuming  her  former  rapid  gait  Mrs. 
Hopper  soon  placed  herself  in  front  of  the  little  dwelling. 

It  was  a  stone-butter's,  and  samples  and  materials  of  his 
work  lay  all  about.  Door  stones — slightly  smoothed  from 
their  original  roughness, — a  pile  of  unappropriated  flags, — 
and  most  conspicuous  of  all,  several  tall  grave  stones  stand 
ing  on  end  in  a  finished  or  half  finished  state,  and  sundry 
slabs  of  different  coloured  marble  set  apart  for  the  same  use. 
Mrs.  Hopper  gave  one  quick  glance  about,  and  then  passed 
the  house  and  went  to  the  little  work-shed  in  the  rear,  guided 
by  regular  blows  of  a  mallet  and  the  sharp  clink  of  the 
chisel. 

*  Good  evening,  neighbour  Stryker.' 

The  old  greyheaded  man  looked  up,  and  with  a  little 
nod  of  recognition  laid  down  his  mallet  and  pushed  back  his 
hat. 

1  It's  done,'  he  said  with  another  nod.  £  Come  to  see 
it?' 

Mrs.  Hopper  gave  silent  assent,  while  her  hands  ner 
vously  untied  and  tied  again  her  sunbonnet  strings. 

Mr.  Stryker  threw  down  his  chisel,  and  moving  leisurely 
about  among  the  hard  companions  that  surrounded  him, 
leisurely  whistling  too,  the  while  ;  he  lifted  one  and  another 
in  examination. 

'  Here,'  he  said  at  length, — '  this  is  it.' 

Rosalie  saw  the  mother's  hands  clasp  each  "other  tightly 
for  a  moment — then  the  clasp  was  loosed  and  she  went  for 
ward,  and  her  friend  followed. 

It  was  a  plain,  dark,  grey  stone — square  and  severely 
simple,  with  the  name  and  age  in  plain  black  letters  at  the 


292  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

top.  Then  caine  a  rudely  chiselled  ship  lifted  up  on  a  wave 
of  its  petrified  ocean ;  no  bad  emblem  of  the  young  life-cur 
rent  so  suddenly  stayed  ;  and  below  were  these  words : — 

"  Thy  servant  did  descend  into  the  midst  of  the  battle.'1'1 

As  if  it  had  been  an  indifferent  thing  to  her,  so  did  Mrs. 
Hopper  scrutinize  every  word  and  letter ;  pointing  out  an 
undotted  i,  and  a  t  uncrossed,  with  a  cool  decision  that  they 
must  be  rectified. 

1  \Val,  wal,'  said  Mr.  Stryker — '  that's  all  easy  enough, 
though  nobody'd  ever  find  it  out,  after  all.  The  rest  suits 
ye,  don't  it  ?  pretty  clever  notion  of  a  ship,  aint  it  ?  haven't 
made  a  better  lookin'  stone  this  some  time.  He  was  a 
likely  boy  though,  so  it's  just  as  well.' 

'  Fetch  your  bill ! '  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  turning  almost 
fiercely  upon  him. 

*  Save  us  and  bless  us  ! '  said  the  old  man.  '  "Why  I 
don't  know  as  it's  made  out,  and  ' 

'  Make  it  out  then,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper.  (  How  long 
d'you  s'pose  me  and  this  lady's  agoin'  to  stand  here  waitin' 
on  your  slow  motions  ?  Your  goods  and  chattels  is  too 
heavy  to  be  run  off  with  afore  you  get  back.' 

Mr.  Stryker  turned  towards  the  house,  muttering  a  little 
to  himself,  and  Mrs.  Hopper's  hands  came  together  again 
with  that  quick  clasp.  She  stood  looking  at  the  stone. 

( "  Thy  servant"  '  Rosalie  said,  in  a  voice  so  low 
that  it  claimed  none  but  willing  attention.  '  Those  sweet 
words !' 

'  Belonged  to  him  if  they  ever  did  to  anybody,'  said  his 
mother  shortly,  as  if  to  get  her  words  out  while  she  could. 
1  He  didn't  serve  two  masters — but  he  served  one.' 

1  "  If  any  man  serve  me,  him  shall  my  Father  honour? ' 
-Baid  Rosalie,  in  the  same  tone. 

Mrs.  Hopper  moved  her  head   as   if  she   would   have 


THE   GATHERING   TWILIGHT.  293 

spoken,  Ibut  no  words  came — only  again  her  hands  were 
pressed  together,  but  this  time  with  a  joyful  difference  ;  and 
like  a  flash  her  look  sought  Rosalie's  face,  and  again  went 
back. 

{  Here's  your  bill,  missis,'  said  the  old  stone-cutter  re 
turning.  '  Made  out  pretty  consider'ble  quick,  too.' 

*  Let's  have  it,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  with  her  former  abrupt 
tone.  *  Now  neighbour  Stryker,  you  set  this  all  right  the 
way  I  told  you,  and  then  you  take  it  into  the  house  and 
kiver  it  up  close.  Don't  you  let  a  living  soul  set  eyes  on  to 
it,  and  then  when  I  send  I'll  send  the  money.  But  if  ary 
person  sees  the  one,  there's  no  tellin'  when  you'll  see  the 
t'other.  Goodnight  t'ye.' 

And  with  rapid  steps  she  followed  the  little  path  till  they 
had  turned  the  hill  and  the  hut  was  out  of  sight,  and  then 
went  forward  to  the  high  road  at  a  more  reasonable  rate ; 
but  with  her  face  set  in  stern  composure,  and  in  perfect 
silence. 

'  How  thankful  I  am  you  could  put  those  words  there  !  ' 
Rosalie  said  at  length,  the  long  breath  seeming  to  bear  wit 
ness  to  sorrowful  thoughts  in  her  mind  as  well.  '  How 
thankful !  how  glad  !  ' 

'  Yes — I'm  thankful  too — I  s'pose,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  in 
a  kind  of  choking  voice.  '  I'd  like  to  have  'em  go  on  my 
own  ! ' 

And  again  she  quickened  her  pace,  nor  changed  it  till 
through  the  gathering  twilight  they  saw  the  gleam  from  their 
own  kitchen  windows. 

1  Bless  you,  Miss  Clyde  ! '  she  said  then,  laying  her  hand 
on  Rosalie's  arm,  and  speaking  so  low  that  but  for  their 
earnest  strength  her  words  would  scarce  have  been  heard. 
'  Bless  you  a  thousand  times  for  going  with  me  ! — and  more'n 
all  for  not  talkin'  to  me,  nor  plaguin'  me  with  questions. 


294  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

And  for  sayin'  just  the  right  words — I'd  forgot  all  about 
'em.'  % 

And  with  a  firm  and  steady  step  she  opened  the  kitchen 
door,  and  inquired  '  why  upon  earth  they  hadn't  got  supper 
ready  ? ' 


SOFTLY   THE   EVENING   CAME.  295 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Softly  the  evening  came.    The  sun  from  the  western  horizon, 
Like  a  magician  extended  his  golden  wand  o'er  the  landscape ; 
Twinkling  vapours  arose;  and  sky  and  water  and  forest 
Seemed  all  on  fire  at  the  touch,  and  melted  and  mingled  together. 

EVANGELINE. 

MEANWHILE  Rosalie's  own  causes  of  trouble  began  to  press 
more  heavily.  Thornton's  letters  had  now  ceased  to  come  at 
all, — whether  because  the  camping-out  life  took  more  of  his 
time  or  more  of  his  thought,  his  sister  could  only  guess. 
Even  one  of  those  short  half  sheets  which  were  in  themselves 
so  unsatisfying  would  have  been  most  welcome,  but  none 
came;  and  the  papers  gave  her  none  but  general  tidings. 
Sometimes  she  could  almost  have  resolved  to  go  and  learn 
for  herself;  but  there  was  Hulda — how  could  she  be  either 
taken  or  left  ? 

It  was  near  the  close  of  a  September  afternoon  when  she 
stood  at  the  window  turning  over  this  question  in  her  mind. 
Not  at  tfee  window  which  faced  the  dell,  but  one  on  another 
side  of  her  room,  which  looked  askance  as  it  were  towards 
the  road  and  the  open  country.  Everything  was  very  still, 
only  for  a  little  peal  of  laughter  which  came  every  now  and 
then  from  some  unseen  place ;  though  the  voice  itself  was 
well  known,  and  said  that  Hulda's  fountain  of  pleasure  knew 
nor  drought  nor  hindrance.  Save  this  and  a  few  fall  crickets 
the  silence  had  no  break. 


296  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

*i 

The  leaves  were  beginning  to  make  their  bright  changes, 
and  the  beautiful  gay  tints  infringed  very  perceptibly  upon 
the  summer  green.  Rosalie  wondered  to  herself  if  changes 
were  once  again  creeping  over  her  life, — if  what  had  so  long 
been  was  to  be  no  more.  And  yet — for  the  mind  loves  even 
surface  sparkles  on  the  water  rather  than  its  cold  depths — 
she  could  hardly  take  up  the  thought  in  a  sorrowful  way. 
Sober  it  was,  as  the  long  shadows  that  stretched  across  the 
fields ;  but  fair  streaks  of  sunlight  lay  between,  and  in  them 
the  fall  tints  looked  bright  and  hopeful :  there  was  even 
comfort  in  the  thought  of  such  beauty-working  cold  nights 
of  frost.  And  when  the  sun  had  set,  and  twilight  had  taken 
her  place,  then  arose  the  rich  after-glow, — as  in  verification 
of  the  promise,  "  At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light}'1 

"  1  form  the  light  and  create  darkness.  •  /  make  peace 
and  create  evil.  /,  the  Lord,  do  all  these  things"  And 
the  quietness  of  full  assent  fell  on  Rosalie's  heart. 

The  glow  was  brightening  now,  steadily ;  as  cloud  after 
cloud  caught  the  signal  and  lit  its  own  fire,  or  hung  out  its 
colours  of  gold  or  purple  or  the  ashes  of  sunburnt  roses. 
And  spread  over  the  western  sky  the  purest  rose-colour  came 
flushing  up,  a  fair  back-ground  to  the  floating  clouds.  On 
earth  the  glow  rather  pervaded  than  fell  on  anything, — it  was 
like  looking  through  a  golden  atmosphere. 

Afar  off  on  the  road,  where  one  of  its  windings  stretched 
away  into  the  distance,  there  came  slowly  along  a  large 
covered  wagon.  The  glow  was  about  it  and  over  it — it 
moved  through  that  yellow  light — but  itself  loomed  up  brown 
and  dark  as  before.  Slowly  it  came  on, — the  two  brown 
horses  upon  a  quiet  walk,  the  driver  using  no  means  to  urge 
them.  It  seemed  to  Rosalie  as  if  darkness  fell  as  they 
moved  on — as  if  the  glow  faded  because  they  came.  As  if 
the  clouds  could  not  keep  their  bright  tinges  with  that  wagon 


THE  ANSWER  TO  HOPES  AND  FEARS.     297 

beneath ;  and  as  it  came  on  at  the  same  slow  pace  and  halted 
before  their  gate,  she  knew  it  was  the  answer  to  Mrs.  Hop 
per's  hopes  and  fears  for  her  son's  return.  A  startled  bird 
flew  twittering  past  the  window,  touching  Rosalie  with  its 
own  undefined  fear,  and  hastily  she  turned  away  and  opened 
the  kitchen  door. 

She  paused  on  the  threshold  however,  for  in  the  dancing 
light  of  the  newly  made-up  fire  Mrs.  Hopper  sat  alone,  and 
for  a  wonder  doing  nothing.  The  room  was  scrupulously  put 
up,  the  very  fire  laid  with  neatness  and  precision,  and  every 
chair  in  its  place ;  and  the  mistress  sat  in  the  chimney  cor 
ner  with  an  air  of  nervous  listlessness  which  became  her 
strangely.  At  the  noise  of  the  door  latch  she  looked  up,  and 
instantly  rose ;  standing  still  then  for  one  moment  with  her 
hand  pressed  to  her  side,  she  merely  said, 

'  I  felt  it,  Miss  Rosalie  ; ' — and  then  throwing  up  one  of 
the  kitchen  windows  which  looked  towards  the  barn  and 
outhouses,  she  called  in  a  voice  that  went  through  the  still 
evening  air  without  the  ringing  effect  of  an  ordinary  loud 
call, 

'  Jabin  !  Mr.  Mearns  ! ' 

then  shut  the  window  and  came  and  stood  on  the  hearth 
again,  without  speaking  or  looking  at  Rosalie  who  had  not 
stirred  from  her  first  position.  But  when  there  was  heard  a 
low  knock  at  the  door,  Mrs.  Hopper  turned  and  said, 

(  Don't  stop — you  can't  help  me.  Go  round  the  house 
and  keep  'em  quiet.'  And  went  forward  to  open  the  door. 

Rosalie  closed  hers,  and  passing  swiftly  to  the  front  of 
the  house  glided  out  in  the  soft  cool  twilight,  and  went 
round  as  she  had  been  directed.  There  was  no  one  to  be 
seen  at  first ;  and  then  hearing  Hulda's  merry  laugh  in  the 
direction  of  the  barn  she  crossed  the  bit  of  meadow  that  lay 
between,  passing  the  two  men  as  she  went,  and  found  Martha 
13* 


298  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

and  Jerusha  and  Hulda  playing  with  bundles  of  straw  and 
each  other  upon  the  threshing  floor.  Here  the  men  had 
been  at  work  apparently,  for  the  fanning-mill  stood  out  and 
a  heap  of  grain  shewed  duskily  on  the  floor,  overlaid  with 
the  great  wooden  shovel ;  and  threshed  straw  and  unthreshed 
grain  were  on  either  side.  Through  the  great  wide-open 
doors  came  in  a  silver  strip  of  moonlight  and  lay  softly 
upon  the  barn  floor;  and  there  Hulda  frolicked — like  a  sil 
ver-winged  butterfly. 

'  Alie  ! '  she  cried  out,  and  rushed  up  and  threw  her  arms 
round  her. 

'  My  stars  alive  ! '  Martha  said, — c  if  Miss  Rosalie  don't 
look  just  like  a  ghost  in  the  moonshine  ! ' 

*  Mother  aint  sick,  is  she,  Miss  Clyde  ? '  said  Jerusha 
timidly. 

'  No  my  dear.     What  are  you  all  about  ?  ' 

(  0  we're  playing,'  said  Hulda,  darting  away  with  a  fly 
ing  leap  to  a  distant  bundle  of  straw. 

Rosalie  sat  down  on  one  that  lay  near  the  door,  and 
looked  out  and  looked  in  with  strange  feelings.  This  door 
of  the  barn  was  toward  the  house,  and  she  could  see  its  dark 
outline,  softened  here  and  there  by  the  moonlight,  and  the 
twinkling  of  candles  from  the  kitchen  window.  That  was 
all — the  house  was  too  distant  to  see  more,  and  no  sound 
crossed  the  space  between.  And  within  the  barn  there  fell 
the  same  moonlight,  but  upon  what  different  types  of  hu 
manity.  One  little  sigh,  and  another  escaped  her  lips — 
then  somebody  softly  touched  her  hand.  It  was  Jerusha. 

'  Miss  Clyde,  it  looks  lonesome  to  see  you  sit  there  so. 
Sha'n't  we  go  back  to  the  house?' 

'  I  guess  I'd  as  good  be  going  to  get  tea,'  said  Martha. 

'  We  shall  not  want  tea  till  I  go,'  said  Rosalie,'  and  I 
am  not  going  yet.  The  kettle  was  on  some  time  ago.' 


THE  BALM  FOB  FEAR  AND  SORROW.     299 

*  0  yes — it  '11  boil  by  itself,'  said  Hulda,  with  another 
spring  into  the  straw  bundles. 

'  I  am  a  sober  kind  of  person  at  best,  Jerusha,'  said 
Rosalie  kindly.  '  Nothing  else  looks  lonesome,  does  it  ?  ' 

*  No,'  said  the  girl  in  a  half  whisper.     i  Only  it  frighted 
me  when  mother  called  the  men,  and  I've  felt  scared  ever 
since.     I  wanted  to  go  right  up,  and  Martha  wouldn't  let 
me.' 

'  Martha  was  quite  right.    But  why  were  you  frightened  ? ' 
'  I  do'  know,'  said  Jerusha,  her  voice  sinking  again.  '  I'm 

always  so  'fraid  of — of — I  didn't  have  but  one  brother,  Miss 

Clyde — and  it's  hard.' 

The  same  shiver  that  she  had  felt  before  passed  over 

Rosalie.     But  she  spoke  quietly. 

*  Are  you  afraid  to  have  him  come  home  here  to  rest  ?  ' 

'  Yes — I  do'  know,'  sobbed  the  girl.  '  It  seems  so 
dreadful.' 

'  Do  you  remember,'  said  Rosalie,  '  what  Jesus  has  said 
— "  Thy  brother  shall  rise  again"  That  is  as  true  to  you 
Jerusha,  as  it  was  to  the  sisters  of  Lazarus.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Jerusha  in  the  same  smothered  voice,  crouch 
ing  down  by  Rosalie  and  hiding  her  face  against  her. 

c  Poor  child — '  Rosalie  said,  and  for  a  moment  she 
paused,  her  words  suddenly  cut  off.  Then  softly  she 
repeated — 

"  /  am  the  good  shepherd ;  the  good  shepherd  giveth  his 
life  for  the  sheep. 

"  My  sheep  hear  my  voice,  and  I  know  them,  and  they 
follow  me:  and  I  give  unto  them  eternal  life;  and  they 
shall  never  perish,  neither  shall  any  man  pluck  them  out, 
of  my  hand" 

The  sweet  words  found  their  way  down  to  the  fear  as 
well  as  the  sorrow  of  Jerusha's  heart,  and  with  a  long  sigh 


300  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

she  dried  her  eyes  and  looked  up.  At  the  same  moment  her 
mother's  tall  figure  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  the  strip  of 
moonlight  was  cut  off. 

She  did  not  speak,  but  stepped  aside  as  if  to  let  the 
others  pass ;  and  when  they  were  all  out  of  the  barn  she 
took  Jerusha's  hand  and  followed  them  slowly. 

There  was  a  large  gathering  in  the  house  that  night, — 
friends,  unneeded  yet '  not  officious,  came  and  went  and 
stayed  ;  though  these  last  but  few.  Rosalie  had  given  up 
her  sitting  room  as  the  best  and  largest  in  the  house,  and 
retreated  for  the  time  to  a  smaller  one  up-stairs  which  she 
used  for  a  bedroom.  And  there  with  Hulda  sleeping  quiet 
ly  near  her  she  sat  through  the  long  evening,  nor  even  lit  a 
candle.  With  what  feelings  of  pain  she  listened  to  the  busy 
steps  that  went  to  and  fro,  making  ready  the  room,  and  then 
to  the  heavy  tread  of  the  men  as  they  brought  in  the  un 
conscious  one  for  whom  all  the  preparations  were  made. 
Then  everything  was  hushed,  and  the  house  sunk  in  profound 
stillness  ;  and  she  might  sit  and  think  it  over.  And  the  weary 
thought  of  the  afternoon  had  in  part  come  back,  and  she  ques 
tioned  with  herself  if  such  a  trial  might  be  awaiting  her. 

With  the  stifled  feelings  of  one  who  breathes  in  ima 
gined  sorrow,  Rosalie  went  to  the  window  and  threw  up  the 
sash/  The  night  was  perfectly  still.  A  slight  frost  in  the 
air  kept  down  all  dampness,  and  hushed  the  many  insect 
voices  that  were  wont  to  sing ;  and  the  stars  shone  with  a 
perfect  light ;  but  the  moon  had  long  since  dipped  her 
crescent  beneath  the  dark  woods  of  the  horizon.  Rosalie 
wrapped  herself  in  a  warm  shawl  and  sat  down  by  the  open 
window;  and  while  she  looked  and  listened  the  hours  went  by 
with  feet  as  noiseless  and  swift  as  her  own  thoughts. 

Suddenly  from  the  room  below  there  came  voices  ;  and 
in  slow  soft  measure  arose  this  hymn. 


A    COUNTRY   OF   JOY.  301 

"  Forever  with  the  Lord  I 

Amen,  so  let  it  be ; 
Life  from  the  dead  is  in  that  word, 
Tis  immortality." 

Untutored  though  the  voices  were,  unsoftened  by  prac 
tice  according  to  any  rules,  there  was  a  wild  kind  of  sweet 
ness  and  force  about  their  music  which  cultivation  could  but 
have  hindered.  An  earnest  belief  too,  a  deep  seriousness 
and  feeling  in  the  words  gave  them  power.  The  voices 
ceased  for  a  while  and  then  began  again — this  time  as  it 
were  for  themselves ;  and  though  Rosalie's  tears  flowed  as 
she  listened,  the  first  gush  took  off  all  their  bitterness. 

"  Come  let  us  anew  our  journey  pursue, 

With  vigor  arise, 

And  press  to  our  permanent  place  in  the  skies. 
Of  heavenly  birth,  though  wand'ring  on  earth, 

This  is  not  our  place, 
But  strangers  and  pilgrims  ourselves  we  confess. 

"  At  Jesus's  call,  we  gave  up  our  all ; 

And  still  we  forego 

For  Jesus's  sake,  our  enjoyments  below. 
No  longing  we  find  for  the  country  behind  ; 

But  onward  we  move, 
And  still  we  are  seeking  a  country  above : — 

"  A  country  of  joy  without  any  alloy ; 

"We  thither  repair ; 

Our  hearts  and  our  treasure  already  are  there. 
"We  march  hand  in  hand  to  Inimanuel's  land ; 

No  matter  what  cheer 
"We  meet  with  on  earth,  for  eternity's  here  ! 

"  The  rougher  the  way,  the  shorter  our  stay ; 

The  tempests  that  rise 
Shall  gloriously  hurry  our  souls  to  the  skies : 


302 

The  fiercer  the  blast,  the  sooner  'tis  past ; 

The  troubles  that  come 
Shall  come  to  our  rescue,  and  hasten  us  home." 

The  last  words  died  away  on  the  night  air  and  all  was 
hushed  ;  and  in  that  hush  of  feeling  as  well  as  sense,  the 
rest  of  the  night  past  to  one  watcher,  and  the  first  few 
streaks  of  the  morniDg  began  to  appear.  Rosalie  looked 
to  the  east,  and  in  the  opal  unearthly  light  which  flick 
ered  up  from  the  horizon  the  morning-star  rode  supreme — 
0  who  that  saw  could  describe  it  to  those  who  had  not 
seen ! 

" '  A  country  of  joy  without  any  alloy" — '  Rosalie 
thought.  '  Yes — where  they  have  "  no  need  of  the  sun, 
neither  of  the  moon  to  shine  in  it ;  for  the  glory  of  God 
doth  lighten  it,  and  the  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof." — Where 
the  bright  and  morning-star  shall  reign  forever — "  and 
his  servants  shall  serve  him.  And  they  shall  see  his  face, 
and  his  name  shall  be  in  their  foreheads.'1''  Then  it  will 
come — not  here.' 


THE   STILLNESS   WHICH   FOLLOWED.  303 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Thou  com'st  to  use  thy  tongue :  thy  story  quickly. — SHAKSPEAKB. 

TIME  went  his  way  as  quietly  as  if  he  had  been  about  child's 
play,  and  his  rough  wind  seemed  to  have  left  no  trace. 
Except  indeed  the  stillness  which  followed  that  sweep  through 
the  house,  and  the  afternoon  dress  of  its  mistress.  All  the 
morning  she  went  about  her  usual  work  in  her  usual  working 
trim — sunbonnet  and  all;  but  the  toil  of  the  day  onceendejjl, 
and  all  sign  of  it  cleared  away, — Mrs.  Hopper  arrayed 
herself  in  deep  black,  with  much  more  particularity  and 
regard  to  appearances  than  she  was  wont  to  use.  The  rest 
of  the  afternoon  was  devoted  to  spinning,  and  to  grave  con 
versation  with  Martha  or  Miss  Cly<Je,  or  with  any  neighbour 
that  might  chance  to  come  in. 

There  Rosalie  would  find  her,  when  she  went  out  into  the 
kitchen  towards  tea  time  to  see  if  Jabin  had  gone  to  the 
post-office  and  had  come  back;  the  big  wheel  whirring  round, 
the  spindle  throwing  off  its  long  fine  thread,  with  now  and 
then  a  break  and  now  and  then  an  added  roll. 

1  Mrs.  Hopper,  has  Jabin  gone  to  the  post-office  ?  ' 

'  Haint  thought  a  word  o'  the  post  since  morning,  Miss 
Rosalie.  Jerushy,  go  see.'  "* 

And  Rosalie  would  come  and  stand  with  folded  hands 
before  the  fire. 


304  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1  What's  the  good  of  expectin'  letters  all  the  time?  '  said 
Mrs.  Hopper,  running  down  the  long  thread  of  yarn  with 
skilful  fingers. 

'  Not  much  good,'  said  Rosalie.  <  One  ought  to  come, 
and  so  I  expect  it.' 

'  Things  oughtn't  to  come  till  they  do,'  said  Mrs. 
Hopper. 

'  No — that  is  true,  in  the  large  sense.' 

1  'Taint  worth  while  to  take  small  sense,'  said  Mrs.  Hop 
per, — 'just  as  well. have  plenty  while  you're  about  it.' 

1  There's  no  letters,'  said  Jerusha  returning.  <  Jabin 
saw  Mr.  Squill  himself,  and  there  warnt  but  two  letters  come 
this  morning  at  all— the  bag  hadn't  nothing  else  into  it ; 
and  one  o'  them  was  his'n,  and  'tother  was  for  the  minister.' 

1  Feel  disappointed  ? '  said  Mrs.  Hopper. 

'  Yes — somewhat.' 

'  No  need,'  said  her  hostess.  <  No  news  is  always  good 
news — firstrate.  And  you  couldn't  hope  for  one  o'  the  letters, 
when  there  come  but  two.' 

And  Mrs.  Hopper  spun  her  wheel  round  and  round  with 
a  degree  of  spirit  that  seemed  to  say  she  was  speaking  her 
mind  with  some  force  to  somebody. 

Rosalie  thought  she  could  not  hope  for  letters  much 
longer ;  and  in  that  mood  she  sat  with  Hulda  at  breakfast 
next  morning ;  giving  wistful  glances  now  and  then  at  the 
bright  fire  which  tempered  the  cool  air  within,  and  the  bright 
sunlight  which  did  the  same  work  without.  The  night  had 
been  frosty,  and  long  streaks  of  white  lay  upon  the  fields 
instead  of  shadows  between  the  sunbeams. 

'  Miss  Rosalie,'  said  Martha  presenting  herself  with  hot 
toast,  '  Jabin  wants  to  know  if  he  '11  go  to  the  post-office 
this  noon  afore  he  comes  home,  or  if  night  '11  do  1  ' 

'  How  is  your  foot,  Martha  ?  ' 


STAMP   ACT  305 

'  Here,'  said  Miss  Jumps, — { large  as  life,  if  'taint  no 
larger.' 

*  Could  you  walk  so  far  without  hurting  it  ? ' 

1  Guess  /could,'  said  Miss  Jumps.  'Wouldn't  like  to 
say  what  it  might  do  on  its  own  account.' 

Rosalie  looked  out  of  the  window  again,  and  quickly 
resolved  that  she  would  be  her  own  bearer  of  despatches. 

'  I  will  go  myself,  Martha.' 

'  Afoot  ? '  said  Martha.  '  Or  will  you  take  Stamp  Act 
along  for  company  ?  ' 

i  0  I  will  ride  of  course,  unless  they  want  the  horse  on 
the  farm.' 

1  Can't  have  him  if  they  do,'  said  Martha.  *  He's  be 
spoke, — or  will  be  just  as  soon  as  I  can  come  at  the  back 
door.' 

'  Stay  Martha ! '  Rosalie  called, '  I  will  go  and  see  about 
it  myself.'  And  taking  Hulda,  she  went  forth  to  where 
Jabin  was  splitting  pine  knots  for  Mrs.  Hopper's  spinning 
light. 

He  readily  undertook  to  catch  the  horse,  or  at  least  to 
try  ;  for  Stamp  Act  was  disporting  himself  in  the  adjoining 
meadow  with  colts  and  horses  of  every  degree.  Jabin  how 
ever  took  an  old  rusty  pan  of  salt  and  a  bridle,  and  went 
off;  and  Rosalie  and  Hulda  stood  still  to  see  the  fun. 

Now  it  was  apparent  that  the  bridle  in  some  degree 
nullified  the  salt,  for  though  the  horses  stretched  out  their 
heads  and  snuffed  and  neighed  and  walked  about  Jabin,  till  he 
was  quite  surrounded ;  none  but  the  younger  ones  who  had 
never  been  caught  would  approach  his  offered  handful. 
Jabin  whistled  and  tried  all  manner  of  blandishments  and 
conjurations — shook  the  salt  pan  and  handed  out  the  salt ; 
and  the  horses  looked,  and  walked  round  and  took  up  a  new 
position  and  then  looked. 


306  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1  'Taint  no  sort  o'  use  to  try  'em  here,'  Jabin  called  out, 
c  If  Jerushy  and  Martha  '11  come  out  and  help  I'll  drive  'em 
into  the  barnyard.' 

Jerusha  and  Martha  came  accordingly,  the  one  to  run  and 
the  other  to  stand ;  for  while  Martha  was  to  watch  at  a  par 
ticular  turn  of  the  road  and  head  them  off,  Jerusha  took 
stand  behind  her  on  the  chip  yard  to  guard  a  large  expanse 
of  ground  between  the  garden  and  the  barn,  in  case  the  first 
barrier  should  prove  insufficient. 

Meantime  Jabin  had  let  down  the  bars,  and  having  gone 
to  the  end  of  the  field  was  now  slowly  driving  the  horses 
before  him.  Their  pace  quickened  however  as  they  came  out 
into  the  road  and  perceived  that  the  barnyard  was  their 
destination ;  and  passing  that  with  a  scornful  toss  of  her 
head,  the  leader,  a  beautiful  black  mare,  trotted  on  towards 
Martha.  Here  was  a  pause, — the  road  was  narrow,  the 
barn  on  one  side,  the  fence  on  the  other,  and  Martha  with 
her  big  stick  displayed  in  front.  The  horses  turned  and 
walked  back — there  was  Jabin  with  his  bridle.  There  was 
a  moment's  consultation,  the  horses  putting  their  heads 
together  :  but  as  Jabin  began  to  draw  near,  the  black  mare 
raised  her  head  and  with  a  loud  neigh  charged  down  upon 
Martha, — plunging  forward,  with  tail  thrown  out  and  mane 
tossed  upon  the  wind,  and  hoofs  beating  a  rapid  and  sound 
ing  gallop.  Martha  gave  way,  and  on  went  the  whole  drove. 
The  black  one  first,  flinging  out  her  heels  as  she  passed,  then 
a  grey  colt,  then  a  fine  roan,  then  Stamp  Act  and  Lord  North 
in  an  overplus  of  glee,  then  another  black,  a  bay  colt,  a  sorrel, 
and  so  on  until  seventeen  were  passed, — after  which  came  a 
rolling  cloud  and  silence. 

*  That's  what  you  call  kickin'  up  a  dust,'  said  Martha,,  as 
Jabin  followed  in  the  train  of  the  horses. 

'  'Taint  what  I  call  a  stoppin'  it,'  said  Jabin,  who  looked 


THE   STAMPEDE.  307 

very  hot  and  dusty  with  running  and  calling  Whoa.     '  If 
Jerushy  don't  stop  'em  they  may  run  ! ' 

The  horses  had  clustered  at  the  top  of  the  hill  before  Je- 
rusha's  sunbonnet  and  were  again  in  doubt.  Then  the  black 
leader  wheeled  and  charged  down  hill,  the  whole  troop  follow 
ing  ;  but  this  time  into  the  barnyard, — for  with  Martha  and 
Jerusha  uniting  their  forces,  the  array  of  sticks  was  too 
imposing,  and  the  horses  submitted  to  superior  force. 

It  was  early  yet  when  Rosalie  set  forth,  and  the  frost 
was  scarce  off  the  ground,  it  crisped  and  cracked  beneath 
Stamp's  feet,  who  probably  liked  his  exemption  from  farm 
duty  or  felt  exhilarated  with  the  stampede,  for  he  went  along 
at  a  good  pace. 

There  was  great  beauty  abroad  that  morning.  The 
Indian  corn  fast  ripening  for  the  garner,  the  bright  yellow 
pumpkins  gleaming  out  beneath, — the  stubble  fields  with 
their  grazing  flocks  of  sheep, — the  green  meadows  spotted 
with  cattle,  or  with  a  drove  of  horses  grouped  about  some 
great  tree, — buckwheat  and  flax  in  a  state  of  ripening  per 
fection,  and  the  light  of  plenty  and  peace  upon  everything. 
The  brooks  had  filled  up  since  the  summer  droughts,  and 
tumbled  and  murmured  along — the  only  murmur  that  is 
not  complaining, —  the  mills  were  busy — the  road  filled  from 
time  to  time  with  the  great  farm  wagons  and  their  o'ertop- 
ping  loads  of  grain.  In  such  a  case  Rosalie  and  Stamp 
turned  out,  and  took  no  more  of  the  road  than  its  flowery  edge, 
and  no  more  of  the  grain  than  a  mouthful.  Stamp  was 
pretty  sure  to  get  that,  by  some,  adroit  turn  of  his  head. 
The  fall  flowers  were  beautiful  by  the  way  side — and  when 
not  strictly  beautiful  very  showy.  Tall  elecampane  and 
golden  rod  among  the  yellows,  and  yarrow  and  everlasting 
for  the  whites ;  with  cardinal  flower  and  blue  gentian  and 
pink-tinted  snake  root.  In  the  boggy  places  where  the 


308  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

brooks  now  and  then  spread  out  and  stayed  their  swift  course^ 
tufts  of  green  rushes  waved  gracefully  in  the  fall  wind,  and 
immense  green  bullfrogs  splashed  down  into  the  water  at 
the  first  sound  of  Stamp's  feet. 

At  every  house  might  be  seen  marigolds  and  balm  and 
feverfew  in  full  glory ;  with  now  and  then  a  drooping  cran 
berry,  loaded  with  scarlet  fruit;  and  at  every  back  door  were 
strings  of  drying  apples,  and  sieves  of  'sweet  corn'  and 
currants,  and  bunches  of  onion  heads.  Chickens  trooped 
about  the  barns  and  fattened  upon  the  scattered  grain ;  and 
the  flails  beat  regular  and  musical  time  on  the  sounding 
floor.  Business,  comfort,  and  beauty  walked  over  the  land  ; 
and  its  face  wore  the  smile  of  a  well-fed  child — fair  and  fat. 
There  was  more  ethereal  beauty  overhead,  in  the  blue  sky 
and  fleecy  white  clouds ;  and  health  and  exhilaration  in  the 
cool  mountain  air,  which  sometimes  swept  Stamp's  mane 
and  tail  quite  out  of  the  sphere  in  which  they  were  placed 
by  nature. 

Rosalie  rode  on  much  at  her  leisure ;  partly  to  please 
her  own  mood  and  eyesight,  partly  because  Stamp's  most 
rapid  pace  savoured  a  little  too  much  of  the  perpendicular  ; 
therefore  she  rather  held  him  in.  She  was  also  willing,  per 
haps  unconsciously,  to  prolong  the  pleasure  of  hope,  and 
was  in  no  haste  to  meet  disappointment  if  one  awaited  her. 
And  though  as  she  neared  the  little  hamlet  that  clustered 
about  the  post-office  she  quickened  Stamp's  pace  to  a  round 
trot,  and  reined  him  up  sharply  before  the  office  door ;  there 
was  only  enough  expectation  left  to  give  a  keener  edge  to 
the  words, 

'  No,  Miss  Clyde — no  letters — sorry  to  say,  if  you  want 
'em.' 

And  Rosalie  turned  and  rode  home  as  slowly  as  before, 
at  least  for  half  the  way ;  and  then  her  admonitions  were 


WHY   HAD   HE   COME  ?  309 

BO  frequent  that  Stamp  at  last  understood  that  a  perpetual 
trot  was  expected  of  him. 

'  For  gracious  ! — how  you  do  come  clattering  up  ! '  said 
Martha  Jumps  who  was  sunning  herself  at  the  back  door. 
1  Fine  day,  aint  it  Miss  Rosalie1?' 

1  Very  fine.' 

'  Something  inore'n  common,  I  thought,'  said  Martha. 
{  And  Hulda's  out  after  sweet  apples  with  Jerushy.  Miss 
Rosalie,  if  I  was  you  I'd  take  on7  my  skirt  here  and  let  me 
take  it  up  stairs,  and  not  go  trapesing  through  the  whole 
house  that  fashion.' 

'Why  not?  I  always  do.' 

"T  won't  hurt  you  to  do  something  now  and  then  by 
way  of  a  change,'  said  Martha.  '  Me  and  Tom  Skiddy  always 
took  turns  runnin'  up  the  back  stairs  and  down  the  front.  I've 
fetched  your  other  skirt  here  too — but  have  it  your  own  way.' 

( I  am  not  so  fond  of  this  particular  way,'  said  Rosalie  as 
she  made  the  change.  '  I  believe  yours  is  the  most  convenient.' 

'  Look  here  ! '  said  Martha,  as  her  young  mistress  moved 
towards  the  door  leading  to  the  hall,  '  don't  you  go  through 
there,  neither.  Jerushy's  been  washing  up  the  front  entry, 
and  it's  just  -as  wet  as  sop.  Go  across  the  kitchen  and 
through  your  sitting  room — then  you  won't  have  to  but  just 
cross  the  wet.  Furthest  way  round's  the  surest  way  home 
nine  times  out  o'  ten.  This  aint  the  tenth,  neither.' 

If  Rosalie  could  have  seen  the  little  shake  of  Martha's 
head  which  followed  these  words,  her  eyes  would  have  been 
better  prepared  for  the  sight  which  met  them  as  she  entered 
the  sitting-room ;  for  Mr.  Raynor  stood  by  the  window, 
half  leaning  against  it,  with  folded  arms,  and  looking  down 
into  the  dell  where  ran  the  brook ;  he  turned  as  the  door 
opened  just  to  see  Rosalie's  painful  start. 

A  start  of  pain — for  why  had  he  come  ?  and  to  tell  her 


310  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

what  ?  She  closed  the  door  and  stood  still  as  if  to  gather 
breath. 

'  You  need  not  be  afraid  of  me,'  Mr.  Raynor  said,  com 
ing  forward  and  taking  both  her  hands.  '  I  bring  you  no 
bad  tidings.' 

She  drew  the  breath  then,  long  and  wearily,  and  bringing 
her  forward  to  the  fire,  Mr.  Raynor  placed  a  chair  for  her 
and  took  one  himself. 

Rosalie  untied  her  hat,  as  if  even  those  light  strings 
choked  her,  but  she  asked  no  question. 

*  How  long  is  it  since  you  have  learned  to  distrust  my 
word  ?  '  said  her  companion  with  a  slight  smile  that  was  very 
reassuring. 

Rosalie's  paleness  gave  way  a  little,  and  she  looked  up 
less  fearfully,  and  smiled  herself. 

*  You  must  forgive  me  Mr.  Raynor.    Is  Thornton  well  ?  ' 
'  No.  not  quite  well :  he  is  better.' 

'  He  has  been  sick  then  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  very  sick — for  many  weeks.  But  he  is  now  so 
near  well  that  you  need  feel  nothing  but  gladness.' 

'  0  Mr.  Raynor  !  why  did  you  not  tell  me  before  ?  why 
did  you  not  send  for  me  ? '  Rosalie  said. 

She  was  answered  by  one  of  those  rare  smiles  that  need 
ed  no  words  to  help  its  meaning.  The  eyes  went  down 
again  and  the  question  was  not  repealed. 

*  He  has  not  wanted  for  care,'  said  Mr.  Raynor  quietly, 
— l  he  has  had  what  man  could  do — I  will  not  say  that  is 
what  woman  can.     Does  that  content  you  ?  ' 

<  But  half.' 

'  It  may  as  well,'  he  said  after  a  minute's  pause.  *  And 
it  were  better  that  you  should  look  a  little  less  pale, — a 
little  more  strong.  I  know  not  when  you  will  be  fit  to  see 
Thornton  at  this  rate.' 


ARBITRARY.  311 

'Where  is  he?' 

1  Not  within  your  reach  to-night.  If  you  are  well  enough 
you  may  see  him  to-morrow.' 

'  Ah  do  not  talk  about  me,'  she  said ;  and  the  tears  came 
then.  But  she  sprang  up  and  left  the  room. 

Not  for  long, — and  though  when  she  came  back  her  face 
wore  the  sobered  and  tendered  look  of  long  ^anxiety  and 
deeply  stirred  feeling;  yet  the  nervous  excitement  had 
passed  off  with  the  tears,  and  she  could  look  and  speak 
quietly.  And  quietly  she  sat  there  before  the  fire  while  Mr. 
Raynor  gave  her  the  long  account ;  scarce  interrupting  him 
unless  with  a  look. 

'  You  may  expect  to  see  him  to-morrow,  Mr.  Raynor 
said  in  conclusion,  '  and  I  came  on  before  to  bring  you  word. 
Dr.  Buffem  advised  that  he  should  spend  three  or  four  weeks 
in  the  strength-giving  country  air.' 

'  And  then  ?  '  said  Rosalie. 

c  I  did  not  ask  his  further  plans — not  feeling  sure  that 
they  would  agree  with  my  own.' 

There  was  a  pause. 

1  You  say  he  will  come  to-morrow  ? '  Kosalie  said  at 
length. 

*  If  I  find  him  no  worse  to  night.' 

'  To-night  ?  are  you  going  back  to  him  to-night  ? ' 

*  Yes,  he  will  expect  me.' 

c  0,'  said  Rosalie  starting  up,  <  then  I  will  go  too  and 
see  him  at  once  ! ' 

1  No  you  will  not,'  said  Mr.  Raynor. 

1  Wherefore  ? ' 

( Because  I  shall  not  take  you,'  he  answered  with  a  little 
smile,  looking  up  at  her  as  she  stood  before  him. 

'  That  is  a  very  arbitrary  reason,'  said  Rosalie,  her  cheeks 
flushing  as  she  resumed  her  seat. 


312 

'  Very — but  not  to  be  gainsaid.  You  are  much  better 
here,  and  I  should  deserve  I  know  not  what,  were  I  to  let 
you  go.' 

'  You  are  coming  back  with  him  to-morrow? ' 

1  No.' 

'  It  seems  to  me  you  are  all  at  cross  purposes  to-day,' 
said  Rosalie. 

'  No,  not  cross  purposes — very  kind  ones  ;  or  at  the  least 
needful. ' 

'  But  do  you  care  so  little  for  strength-giving  air  ? '  said 
Rosalie  with  some  hesitation, — {  or  is  your  time  too  pre 
cious  ?  Shall  we  not  see  you  here  again  ?  ' 

1  Perhaps,' — he  said  with  that  same  relaxing  of  the 
lips.  '  I  do  not  know  how  it  will  be.  And  my  time  is  not 
too-  precious  to  spend  here,  but  it  must  be  given  to  less  pre 
cious  things.  Are  you  sure  you  are  quite  able  to  give 
Thornton  what  care  he  needs  at  present  ?  ' 

'  0  yes,  it  will  do  me  good.' 

'  I  hope  it  will,'  Mr.  Raynor  said  more  gravely.  c  Few 
things  seem  to  have  done  that  this  summer.' 

'  Why  I  am  perfectly  well,'  said  Rosalie. 

'  Which  puts  the  health  of  other  well  people  a  good  deal 
above  perfection.' 

'  It  is  best  to  rest  contented  with  what  one  has,'  said 
Rosalie  lightly.  '  And  I  have  been  doing  what  I  could  to 
make  myself  well, — so  do  not  you  put  it  into  Thornton's 
head  that  I  am  not,  Mr.  Raynor.' 

'  And  I  cannot  rest  contented  with  what  I  have,  nor  un 
til  I  have  you.  May  I  put  that  into  his  head  ?  ' 

<  Oh  no  ! ' 

1  Why  not?' 

She  did  not  say  why  not,  but  the  fluttering  colour  in  her 


THE   RAINBOW.  313 

cheeks  was  a  little  distressful.  His  next  words  were  spoken 
in  that  old  tone  sbe  remembered  so  well. 

'  You  may  rest — I  shall  say  nothing  without  your  leave. 
I  think  you  have  the  warrant  of  past  experience  that  I  will 
do  nought  to  trouble  you.' 

Her  look  in  return  was  very  grateful ;  and  if  the  droop 
ing  eyelids  could  not  quite  conceal  why  they  drooped,  it  was 
no  matter  of  regret  to  at  least  one  person. 

'  You  are  in  safe  hands,'  Mr.  Raynor  said, — '  stronger  and 
wiser  and  kinder  than  mine — that  ought  to  give  me  a  sort 
of  rest,  and  does.  But  dear  Rosalie,  take  better  care  of 
yourself,  for  my  sake.  You  must  let  me  say  so  much,  and 
so  much  you  must  do.' 

She  watched  him  ride  off  in  the  fair  autumn  light  as  she 
had  watched  Thornton  so  many  weeks  before.  But  about 
her  brother  fear  and  sorrow  had  thrown  their  shadows — now 
she  looked  through  an  atmosphere  of  perfect  trust.  Proba 
bly  she  did  not  recognize  the  rainbow  which  this  sunshine 
made  from  the  lingering  tear-drops  in  her  eyes,  but  it  was 
there,  nevertheless. 


14 


314  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

His  sweetness  won  a  more  regard 

Unto  his  place,  than  all  the  boist'rous  moods 

That  ignorant  greatness  practiseth. — BEN.  JONSOU, 

1  You  have  seen  her  ! '  was  Thornton's  exclamation,  when 
Mr.  Raynor  entered  his  room  about  eight  o'clock  that 
evening. 

'  Certainly — for  an  hour.' 

c  And  what  did  she  say  ?  is  she  well  ? ' 

1  She  said  she  was  well.' 

'  Does  she  want  to  see  me  ?  '  was  Thornton's  next 
question,  but  put  in  a  different  tone. 

'  You  do  not  deserve  to  see  her,  for  even  asking,'  said 
his  friend.  '  How  are  you  ?  let  me  feel  your  hand.' 

1  0  I  am  well  enough,'  said  Thornton,  throwing  himself 
into  the  other  corner  of  his  easy-chair — '  or  should  be,  if  my 
head  would  stop  turning  round.  But  after  all,  Henry,  what 
makes  you  say  that  ?  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  I  don't 
deserve  to  have  her  care  whether  I  am  alive  or  dead.' 

'  Then  go  further  back,  and  say  that  you  do  not  deserve 
to  have  such  a  sister.  Never  ask  me  whether  Rosalie  is 
herself  still.  What  is  the  matter  with  your  head  ?  ' 

'  Turns  round,  that's  all,'  said  Thornton.  '  Waltzes — 
seeing  my  feet  have  not  the  power.  How  cool  your  hand 
is !  a  very  quaker  touch,  and  my  head  stops  waltzing.' 


HIS   WAY  IN   MOST   THINGS.  315 

( What  machinery  set  it  agoing  ? ' 

'  I  dont  know — '  said  Thornton  with  another  fling.  (  Or 
at  least  it  is  not  worth  while  to  inquire.' 

'  Very  worth  while,  for  you.  In  the  mean  time  sit  still. 
I  have  quaker  prejudices  against  a  general  waltz.' 

(  Well  you  keep  your  hand  still  then,'  said  Thornton 
laughing.  *  Now  tell  me  every  word  that  Rosalie  said. 
And  in  the  first  place.  Sir  Henry,  I  think  quite  as  highly  of 
her  as  you  do.' 

'  I  should  be  glad  to  think  so,'  said  Mr.  Raynor  quietly. 

'  Well  think  so  then  ! '  said  Thornton  with  an  impatient 
gesture.  ( You  are  not  obliged  to  admire  her  any  more 
than  I  do,  at  all  events.  Was  her  conversation  so  sweet 
and  pleasant  that  you  have  scruples  about  repeating  it  ?  ' 

*  On  the  contrary  the  words  spoken  were  mostly  my  own, 
and  Rosalie  said  but  little.' 

*  Rosalie  again  ! '  said  Thornton.    {  Why  will  you  always 
call  her  so  ?  ' 

'  Merely  because  it  suits  me.' 

'  But  other  people  do  not.' 

'  Other  people  have  their  way  and  I  have  mine.' 

You  have  it  in  most  things,  to  do  you  justice,'  said 
Thornton.  *  Well  will  it  suit  you  to  tell  me  what  she  did 
say?' 

*  She  asked  how  you  were,  and  why  she  had  not  been 
sent  for ;  and  wished   very  much  to  come  directly  to  you 
to-night.' 

1  TJie  gypsey ! '  said  Thornton  looking  pleased.  '  Well 
why  didn't  she  ? ' 

'  Because  my  wish  was  different.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Mr.  Raynor  ?  said  Thorn 
ton  facing  round  upon  him. 

1  The  simple  truth.' 


316  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  Yery  peculiar  truth  to  my  ears,'  said  Thornton.  '  What 
had  you  to  say  about  it  ?  ' 

'  I  did  say  that  I  should  not  bring  her.' 

'  And  she  submitted  ?  ' 

'  Certainly, — she  could  not  well  come  alone.' 

Thornton  kicked  off  his  slipper  to  the  furthest  corner  of 
the  room — then  subsided. 

*  You  are  so  excessively  cool ! '  he  said — '  and  slippery 
to  match.     Do  you  never  congeal  in  the  course  of  a  con 
versation  ? ' 

*  Not  often,'  said  Mr.  Raynor — 

"  He  that  lets 

Another  chafe,  may  warm  him  at  his  fire."' 

*  What  else  was  said  ?  '  inquired  Thornton  abruptly. 

4 1  gave  your  sister  a  very  particular  account  of  your 
weeks  of  illness,  the  beginning  thereof,  and  the  state  in  which 
they  had  left  you :  told  her  that  probably  you  would  be 
with  her  to-morrow,  and  that  she  need  feel  neither  sorrow 
nor  anxiety  about  your  health.' 

1  Hum — '  said  Thornton.     <  What  else  ?  ' 

'  That  is  the  substance  of  what  was  said  about  you.' 

'  What  about  anything  else?  ' 

{  Nothing  that  I  think  it  worth  while  to  repeat.' 

'  But  I  think  it  worth  while  that  you  should,'  said 
Thornton.  '  And  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  know  all  that 
is  said  to  my  sister  by  anybody,  or  by  her  to  anybody.' 

'  I  think  differently.' 

( I  don't  care  what  you  think,'  said  Thornton  starting- up 
from  his  chair. 

1  And  I  case  what  you  do,'  said  Mr.  Raynor,  with 
strong  though  gentle  hands  bringing  him  back  to  a  resting 
posture.  c  Sit  quiet  Thornton,  and  throw  not  away  the 
little  strength  you  have  gained.' 


THE   WRONG  WAY.  317 

c  Little  indeed  ! '  said  Thornton  bitterly,  as  lie  felt  it  by 
no  means  up  to  the  resisting  point.  '  But  you  may  take 
your  hands  away — I  suppose  I  can  sit  still  without  being 
held.' 

One  hand  still  kept  its  guard  however,  but  the  other 
laid  that  same  cool  touch  on  his  forehead,  and  for  a  little 
while  there  was  silence.  Mr.  Raynor  stood  motionless, 
and  Thornton  tired  with  the  excitement  into  which  he  had 
wrought  himself,  was  nearly  as  still ;  a  quick  breath  or  two 
escaping  like  pent  up  steam  from  time  to  time. 

'  What  do  you  vex  me  for,  Henry  ?  '  he  said  at  length. 

'  I  did  not  intend  it.' 

'  But  you  know  it  always  vexes  me  to  see  you  so  cool.' 

1 1  may  not  vex  myself  to  please  you,  Thornton,'  said 
his  friend. 

'  And  Rosalie — you  know  I  never  can  bear  to  hear  you 
talk  about  her.' 

*  You  insisted  that  I  should.' 

'  Well  but — '  said  Thornton, — '  of  course  I  did,  but  not 
in  that  way.  How  did  she  look  ?  ' 

*  I  fear  any  description  I  might  give  would  be  too  much 
in  '  that'way,"  said  Mr.  Raynor. 

c  You  are  certainly  the  most  provoking  man  I  ever  had 
to  deal  with.  Did  she  look  as  well  as  she  used  to  ?  ' 

*  As  she  used  to  when  ?  '  _ 

1  Why  always  !  '  said  Thornton. 

'  Her  health  has  had  several  phases  since  I  first  knew 
her,'  said  his  friend  gravely.  '  She  is  perhaps  looking  better 
than  she  was  last  spring,  and  will  I  hope  improve  faster 
now  that  her  mind  is  at  rest  about  you, — partly  at  rest.' 

Thornton  could  have  been  vexed  again,  but  the  words 
touched  him  on  more  points  than  one. 

'  Did  you  see  Hulda  ? '  he  inquired. 


318  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

I  No,  she  was  out.' 

'  May  she  always.be  that  when  I  am  there  ! '  said  Thorn 
ton,  his  illhumour  rushing  off  into  that  channel.  l  When  one 
cannot  walk  away  from  a  disturbance,  one  is  glad  to  have  it 
save  one  the  trouble.' 

4 1  see  you  are  not  cured  yet,  Thornton,'  Mr.  Raynor 
said. 

*  What  do  you  mean  by  not  cured  ?  '  said  Thornton  kick 
ing  off  his  other  slipper. 

I 1  did  hope  that  this  fever  might  bear  off  some  other 
maladies.     Meanwhile  if  you  will  put  on  these  slippers  which 
stand  by  your  chair,  it  may  be  the  better  for  your  bodily 
health.' 

1 1  am  not  apt  to  take  cold  in  my  feet,'  said  Thornton, 
thrusting  his  toes  into  the  slippers — from  which  however 
the  whole  foot  gradually  worked  in.  '  What  particular  mala 
dies  do  you  suppose  me  afflicted  with  ? ' 

'  Some  much  akin  to  that  which  befell  Christiana's  son 
in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  when  he  eat  of!  the  fruit  of  Beel- . 
zcbub's  orchard,'  replied  Mr.  Raynor.  *  But  he  was  willing 
to  take  the  cure.' 

The  anger  which  had  flushed  into  Thornton's  face  at  the 
first  words,  faded  away  when  he  heard  the  last.  And  even 
the  show  of  it  was  hard  to  keep  up. 

*  You  talk  knowingly  of  the  disease,  and  think  the  cure 
easy  to  get,'  he  said.     *  That  is  the  way  with  Rosalie — and 
I  suppose  with  all  paragon  people.' 

lu  Is  there  no  balm  in  GileadV'1  said  Mr.  Raynor 's 
deep  grave  voice  ;  "  Is  there  no  physcian  there  ?  why  then 
is  not  the  health  of  the  daughter  of  my  people  recovered  ?  " 

Thornton  could  almost  have  put  his  hands  over  his  face 
and  wept.  For  if  the  cause  of  all  his  impatience  could  have 
been  traced  out,  it  would  have  been  found  not  so  much  in 


WHY    DO   YOU   VEX    YOURSELF  ?  319 

his  bodily  weakness  as  in  those  other  ailments  to  which  his 
friend  referred ;  or  rather  in  his  consciousness  of  them. 
Neither  his  long  weeks  of  illness  nor  the  living  presence  of 
his  friend  had  lost  their  work  ;  but  his  mind  was  only  stirred 
up  and  roiled — not  clear  nor  at  rest.  For  a  half  hour  he 
sat  there,  striving  to  control  himself  enough  to  speak  with 
out  shewing  any  emotion ;  and  then  it  was  hid  but  with  a 
poor  veil  of  carelessness. 

{ If  you  feel  obliged  to  stand  at  the  back  of  iny  chair  all 
the  time,  Mr.  Raynor,  I  shall  feel  obliged,  to  go  to  bed. 
You  must  be  tired  after  your  day's  journey.' 

'It  is  the  best  thing  you  can  do,'  said  Mr.  Raynor 
quietly. 

And  Thornton  went  to  bed,  trying  hard  to  persuade 
himself  that  he  was  a  very  ill-used  person,  and  by  the  tirno 
he  went  to  sleep  was  pretty  well  established  in  that  pleasant 
conviction ;  but  when  he  woke  up  in  the  night,  and  saw  his 
friend  still  watching  over  him, — sometimes  standing  at  his 
side,  sometimes  by  the  light  with  that  little  Bible  in  his 
hand  which  had  for  Thornton's  eyes  a  strange  fascination, 
— he  was  forced  to  change  his  mind.  "When  he  awoke  in 
the  morning  Mr.  Raynor  sat  before  the  fire  with  his  head 
resting  on  his  hand,  but  at  the  first  movement  Thornton 
made  he  came  to  him. 

'  You  arc  better  this  morning,'  Mr.  Raynor  said,  when 
he  had  felt  Thornton's  head  and  hand  and  had  taken  his 
usual  grave  survey  of  his  countenance. 

Thornton  looked  up  at  him  and  repeated  his  last  night's 
question — 

'  What  do  you  vex  me  for,  Henry  ?  '  And  for  almost  the 
first  time  in  his  life  Mr.  Raynor  answered  him  with  a  smile. 

'  Well,  why  do  you  ? '  said  Thornton. 

'  Why  do  you  vex  yourself?  '  said  Mr.  Raynor,  his  clasp 


320  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

of  Thornton's  hand  a  little  closer.  The  feeling  of  last 
night  rose  up  in  Thornton's  eyes,  — he  closed  them  and  was 
silent. 

'  I  am  absolutely  sorry  to  part  with  you.  and  to  give  you 
up  into  other  hands,'  said  Mr.  Raynor — '  even  though  those 
be  the  best  possible.' 

'  Part  with  me  ! {  said  Thornton.  *  That  is  what  you 
shall  not  do.  You  are  going  with  me  to  White  Oak  ?  ' 

'No.' 

1  You  must !  ' 

c  It  is  so  short  a  journey,'  said  Mr.  Raynor,  '  and  you 
seem  so  well  this  morning — I  think  you  can  ride  there  with 
only  Tom's  attendance.' 

Thornton  began  the  business  of  dressing  with  his  mind 
hard  at  work. 

*  But  I  shall  want  you  there,'  he  said. 

'  Not  when  you  have  seen  Rosalie.' 

'  I  wish  she  was  anywhere  else ! '  said  Thornton,  with 
his  usual  attempt  at  diversion.  {  Such  a  place  to  go  to  for 
three  weeks  ! ' 

'  Such  a  beautiful  place.' 

'  The  beauties  of  nature  are  not  in  my  line,'  said  Thorn 
ton. 

'  Then  you  are  out  of  your  own,'  said  his  friend. 

1  As  how,  Mr  Raynor  ?  ' 

1  Something  is  wrong  when  the  most  pure  and  beautiful 
things  the  world  can  shew  give  no  pleasure.  If  sweet 
music  seem  to  make  discord  there  must  be  discordant  notes 
within.' 

Thornton  finished  his  dressing  and  breakfasting  in  com 
parative  silence,  and  even  Mr.  Raynor  said  little,  and 
seemed  willing  to  let  him  muse  if  he  felt  inclined.  Break 
fast  over,  the  carriage  came  to  the  door  and  Thornton  set 


THE    SWEET    SERVICE.  321 

forth  on  his, short  journey.  For  a  few  miles  Mr.  Radnor's 
horse  was  by  his  side,  and  the  rider  from  time  to  time 
called  liis  attention  to  some  notable  thing  in  the  landscape. 
But  when  they  stopped  for  an  hour  that  Thornton  and  the 
horses  might  rest,  Mr.  Raynor  ordered  a  fresh  horse  for  him 
self  to  be  got  ready  immediately. 

c  Are  you  going  no  further  with  me  ? '  Thornton  said. 

'  No  further.     This  is  your  road — that  is  mine.' 

1  And  when  am  I  to  see  you  again  ? '  said  Thornton,  who 
looked  disturbed  at  the  prospect. 

( "When  you  come  back  to  the  city  I  hope,'  said  his 
friend.  '  And  what  am  I  to  hear  from  you  in  the  mean 
time  ? ' 

'  0  that  I  am  as  well  as  ever  again,  I  presume,'  said 
Thornton. 

<  And  no  better  ?  ' 

Thornton  flushed  a  little,  but  instead  of  flinging  away 
the  hand  he  held — as  he  would  have  done  some  months  be 
fore — he  only  swung  it  backwards  and  forwards,  and  was 
silent. 

''Are  you  so  unwilling  to  take  up  the  lightest  and 
sweetest  service  to  which  a  man  can  submit  himself?'  said 
Mr.  Raynor. 

'  It  seems  so  to  you — '  said  Thornton, — '  it  does  not  to 
me.' 

{ Nor  ever  will  until  you  try  it.  When  the  doubtful 
ones  asked  Jesus,  "  Master,  where  dwellest  thou  ? "  he 
said  unto  them,  "  Come  and  see."  "  If  any  man  will 
do  his  will  he  shall  know  of  his  doctrine"  and  of  his  ser- 
7ice.  Or  as  Rutherford  says ;  P  Come  and  see  will  teach 
thee  more — come  nearer  will  say  much."  ' 

'  Well — '  Thornton  said  in  a  very  unsatisfied  tone. 

'  Let  it  be  well,  dear  Thornton,  for  more  sakes  than  your 
14* 


322  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

own.'     In  silence  the  hands  were  clasped  and  parted,  and 
Mr.  Raynor  rode  away. 

Thornton  looked  after  him  as  long  as  even  a  dusty 
trace  could  be  seen,  and  then  returned  to  the  beauties  of 
nature  with  a  mind  very  unfit  for  their  contemplation.  The 
quiet  depth  of  the  blue  sky  disturbed  him,  and  made  his 
own  spirit  seem  dark  and  cloudy,— the  bright  sun  threw 
shadows  upon  his  mind  of  less  fair  proportions  than  those 
upon  the  landscape  ;  and  the  sweet  voice  of  birds  and  winds 
and  brooks  was  too  pure,  too  praise-giving, — too  much  like 
the  children  crying  hosanna  in  the  ears  of  the  offended 
Jews.  It  was  an  unbroken  concert,  but  Thornton's  instru 
ment  was  not  in  tune.  Everything  jarred — he  shook  hands 
with  nothing ;  and  by  turns  sad  or  impatient  he  drove 
wearily  along,  until  in  the  afternoon  light  Mrs.  Hopper's 
gate  appeared  before  him,  and  the  journey  was  at  an  end. 


A   CLOUD   OF   MOODINESS  323 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


Omission  to  do  what  is  necessary, 

Seals  a  commission  to  a  blank  of  danger.— SHAKSPEAEB!. 


IF  Thornton  bad  never  before  seen  the  perversity  of  human 
nature  he  had  abundant  cause  now.  Much  as  he  had  wished 
to  be  with  his  sister,  often  as  he  had  resolved  that  for  the 
future  she  should  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  him — that  he 
would  be  at  least  part  of  her  happiness, — it  seemed  as  if  when 
the  trial  came  every  current  set  the  wrong  way.  He  had 
wished  to  prove  to  her  that  he  was  as  good  as  other  people, 
and  he  was  worse  than  himself. 

Rosalie  spent  her  strength  upon  him  most  unweariedly  ; 
though  less  in  doing  than  in  watching, — in  trying  to  amuse 
him,  in  hoping  that  he  would  be  amused.  But  her  efforts 
met  with  little  success.  A  cloud  of  moodiness  had  settled 
down  upon  Mr.  Clyde,  and  he  seemed  in  no  mind  to  come 
out  of  it.  Indeed  his  attempts  at  coming  out  were  rather 
unfortunate,  and  were  as  apt  to  land  him  in  a  fit  of  impa 
tience  as  anything.  His  mind  was  not  fitted  to  bear  up 
against  weakness  of  body — or  was  itself  out  of  order  ;  and 
either  craved  old  associates  or  the  other  extreme  of  some 
thing  new.  Nothing  satisfied  him,  not  even  Rosalie's 
watchful  love  ;  though  he  was  more  ready  than  of  old  to  ap- 


324  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

predate  its  working;  but  if" he  shook  off  his  moodiness  at 
all,  it  was  generally  with  such  a  fling  as  sent  a  reminder  of 
the  mood  into  the  face  of  every  one  present — after  which  he 
relapsed  tenfold.  And  though  quite  able  to  ride  or  to  walk, 
in  moderation,  he  was  with  difficulty  persuaded  to  do  either  ; 
and  nature's  sweet  influences  had  small  chance  to  try  their 
hand  upon  him. 

'  Are  you  sure  it  would  not  do  you  good  to  go  out  ? ' 
Rosalie  said  one  day  as  he  sat  by  the  fire.  '  I  am  so  sure 
that  it  would.' 

'  What  use  ?  '  said  Thornton.  '  I  can  imagine  pigs  with 
out  the  help  of  eyesight.' 

'  You  cannot  imagine  sunshine,'  said  his  sister,  with 
a  playful  attempt  to  make  him  raise  his  head  and  look  out, 

*  No — nor  feel  it  if  I  go.     There  is  nothing  to  see  here.' 
1  But  there   you  are  mistaken.     There  is  a  great  deal 

that  is  worth  seeing.' 

1  Probably — to  canary  birds,'  said  Thornton. 

'  0  there  are  a  great  many  birds  here,'  said  Hulda. 
*  Sparrows,  and  robins,  and  ' — 

'  Take  yourself  off  to  their  neighbourhood  then — or  keep 
quiet,'  said  her  brother.  '  You  must  not  talk  if  you  stay  here. 
"Why  don't  you  go  and  pick  up  apples  with  Martha  as  you 
did  yesterday  ? ' 

'  Because  Martha's  talking  to  Tom  Skiddy,'  said  Hulda, 
'  and  I  don't  like  to.' 

'  When  they  have  talked  each  other  into  a  wedding  they 
will  be  easy,'  said  Thornton. 

'  Ask  Jerusha  to  go  with  you  Hulda,'  said  her  sister. 
c  Take  my  little  basket  and  fill  it  for  me,  and  by  and  by  I 
will  walk  with  you.'  And  as  Hulda  left  the  room  Rosalie 
came  and  knelt  down  *by  her  brother. 

*  What  is  the  matter  with  you  dear  Thornton  ?     You 


TIRED    OF   MYSELF.  325 

will  never  get  strong  in  this  way,  and  it  troubles  me  very 
much.' 

Thornton  put  his  arm  round  her  and  drew  her  head 
down  upon  his  breast. 

1  You  are  not  more  tired  of  me  Alie,  than  I  am  of 
myself.' 

'  I  am  not  tired  of  you,'  said  his  sister  weeping, — (  you 
know  that.' 

'  I  should  think  you  might  be.  Why  don't  you  go  and 
take  care  of  Mr.  Kay  nor,  and  leave  me  alone  ?  ' 

She  was  silent  a  moment. 

'  Why  do  you  ask  me  such  a  question  ? ' 

'  For  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you  answer  it.' 

1  That  would  not  make  me  happy.' 

'  Then  what  would  ?  ' 

There  was  answer  even  in  the  slight  movement  of  her 
head  before  she  spoke. 

1  What  would  ?  '  Thornton  repeated. 

'  To  see  you  what  I  call  happy,  I  believe,'  said  his  sister. 

Thornton  drew  a  long  breatR — or  rather  breathed  one 
out — as  if  that  were  a  thing  he  might  whistle  for  sooner  than 
get ;  and  for  some  time  there  was  not  a  word  spoken.  Then 
Thornton  began  again. 

'  I  used  to  wonder  sometimes,  in  those  long  hot  nights 
when  I  lay  sick  in  my  tent,  that  he  did  not  administer  poison 
instead  of  medicine.  And  sometimes  I  almost  wished  that 
he  would — then  you  would  be  taken  care  of.  and  I  should  be 
in  nobody's  way.' 

'  I  am  sure  he  never  suggested  that  last  idea,'  said 
Rosalie. 

*  No,  to  do  him  justice,'  said  Thornton,  '  he  never  men 
tioned  your  name  unless  I  did.  And  he  took  as  tender  care 
of  me  as  if  I  were  his  own  brother — or  perhaps  I  should 


326  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

say  yours.  There  was  no  make  believe  in  it  though.  Yes 
Alie,  I  was  forced  to  give  up  my  dislike,  and  to  agree  to  all 
the  praises  you  would  have  spoken  had  you  dared. !  He  is  a 
man  to  trust.' 

There  was  pleasure  in  hearing  these  words, — but  for  the 
cold,  unenjoying  tone,  Rosalie  would  have  felt  it  strongly. 
As  it  was  the  pleasure  was  qualified ;  and  her  quiet 

*  I  am  glad  you  think  so,' 

told  of  both  feelings.  She  waited  long  for  Thornton  to  speak 
again,  but  his  lips  did  not  move  ;  and  slowly  she  arose  and 
went  to  give  Hulda  the  promised  walk  :  her  voice  and  eye 
following  the  child's  merry  pranks,  and  all  her  thoughts  left 
at  home.  She  could  hardly  have  told  whether  the  walk  was 
long  or  short,  and  most  like  her  brother  could  not;  for  when 
.Rosalie  again  entered  the  sitting-room  he  had  not  stirred 
from  his  former  position — had  not  even  changed  the  hand 
which  supported  his  head.  Rosalie  came  up  and  laid  her 
hand  on  it,  but  the  soft  touch  called  forth  no  words,  and  in 
silence  she  sat  down  to  await  the  coming  in  of  tea.  The 
meal  passed  with  equal  taciturnity  ;  Hulda  went  to  bed,  and 
Rosalie  sat  down  as  before — her  eyes  apparently  seeking 
counsel  of  the  little  wood  fire,  which  flashed  into  their  bright 
depths  with  great  vivacity.  How  grave  they  were,  how 
thoughtful !  catching  none  of  the  fire's  dance. 

'  It  strikes  me,'  said  Thornton  suddenly,  '  that  you  and 
I  have  done  thinking  enough  for  one  night,  Alie.  What  say 
you1?' 

1 1  don't  know.' 

1  Why  don't  you  know  ?  ' 

'  I  suppose,'  she  said,  with  one  of  her  fair  looks  up  at 
him,  '  I  suppose  if  we  have  been  thinking  unprofitable 
thoughts,  it  might  be  well  to  give  the  mind  some  better  re 
freshment  before  the  body  takes  its  own.' 


THY    WILLING    SERVANT.  327 

'  "What  do  you  call  unprofitable  thoughts?'  said  Thornton. 

(  Fruitless  ones — or  such  as  bearing  fruit,  are  yet  shaken 
off  too  soon,  before  it  be  ripe.' 

'  You  have  covered  the  whole  ground  for  me,'  said  Thorn 
ton.  '  I  had  better  begin  again.  I  wonder  if  yours  have 
been  worth  a  silver  penny  ?  ' 

*  Not  to  you — and  some  of  them  more  than  that  to  me.' 

1  Suppose  you  were  to  indulge  me  with  the  hearing  there 
of,'  said  Thornton, — 'just  by  way  of  a  lesson  in  fruitful 
thinking.' 

'  Truly,'  said  his  sister,  c  my  best  thoughts  were  not  my 
own,  but  drawn  from  a  little  hymn  of  Wesley's.' 

'  Give  us  the  hymn  then,'  said  Thornton.  '  Are  you  the 
only  alchymist  who  can  fetch  gold  from  thence  ? ' 

*  The  gold  is  of  an  ancient  stamp,'  said  his  sister  sadly, 
1  and  little  thought  of  in  the  alloyed  currency  of  this  world  ,• 
for  it   bears   the  impress  of  the  first  commandment — not 
<;  Ccesar^s  image  and  superscription" 

"  Lord,  in  the  strength  of  grace, 
With  a  glad  heart  and  free ; 
Myself,  my  residue  of  days, 
I  consecrate  to  thee. 

"  Thy  ransomed  servant  I 

Restore  to  thee  thine  own ; 
And  from  this  moment  live  or  die, 
To  serve  my  God  alone." ' 

Thornton  looked  at  his  sister  while  she  repeated  these 
words, — felt  that  she  had  found  the  gold,  that  it  was  in  her 
hand — and  knew  that  his  own  was  empty.  And  why  ?  He 
was  ready  to  say  it  was  so  because  so  it  was  to  be ;  but  those 
words  came  back  to  him  again — 

"  With  a  glad  heart  and/ree  " — 


328  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

and  to  none  had  Rosalie's  face  given  more  strong  assent  and 
effect. 

'  Do  you  like  it,  Thornton  ? '  she  said,  drawing  up  closer 
to  him. 

'  Seems  like  pure  metal  my  dear,'  he  answered  carelessly. 
*  I  presume  my  ready  money  would  scarce  exchange  for  it 
without  a  pretty  heavy  discount.' 

Rosalie  looked  at  him,  as  if  she  thought  and  truly  that 
just  then  he  was  counterfeiting  ;  but  his  face  gave  her  no 
invitation  to  speak,  and  her  eyes  went  back  to  the  fire. 
When  she  turned  to  him  again,  however,  and  somewhat  sud 
denly,  he  was  regarding  her  with  a  grave  abstracted  sort  of 
look,  as  if  from  her  his  thoughts  had  taken  a  wide  range : 
not  into  the  pleasant  regions. 

1  What  can  you  possibly  be  musing  about,  Thornton  ?  ' 
she  said. 

'  There  are  a  great  many  things  about  which  I  could 
possibly  be  musing,  Alie.' 

4  Only  that  you  were  not  apt  to  muse  at  all.' 

( I  doubt  I  am  getting  into  bad  habits  then — you  are  such 
a  muse-inviting  little  object.' 

'  Am  I  ? '  said  Rosalie  smiling.  ;  What  ideas  do  I 
suggest  ?  ' 

*  Various  ones  of  human  perfection.' 

1 "  The  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect ,"  '  Rosalie  said. 
'  That  will  be  a  fair  thing  to  see  ! ' 

'  For  those  that  see  it,'  said  Thornton  with  some  bitter 
ness.  But  he  wished  the  words  unsaid — her  quick  look  up 
at  him  was  so  humble,  and  at  the  same  time  so  full  of  pain. 

*  What  makes  you  speak  so,  .Thornton  ?  ' 

'What  makes  you  look  so,  Alie  ?'  he  said  with  his  old 
light  tone.  '  It  is  not  possible  that  you  think  all  men  need 
perfecting  ?  The  gentleman  who  took  care  of  me  so  lately, 


LIFE  NO   FAILURE.  329 

for  instance — how  could  he  be  any  better  than  he  is  ?     I  am 
afraid  you  undervalue  him.' 

'  0  Thornton  !   I  cannot  jest  with  you  after  such  words.' 

1  Jest !  no/  he  said,  but  something  in  her  eye  checked 
him, — he  turned  away  and  rested  his  head  on  his  hand  as 
before.  Rosalie  came  and  laid  her  hand  on  it  again — laid 
her  cheek  there  too,  but  he  did  not  move. 

1  What  troubles  you,  brother  ?  ' 
Why  do  you  suppose  that  anything  does  ? ' 

She  did  not  answer — as  being  needless,  and  he  added, 

'You  had  better  go  to  bed,  Alie — take  care  of  yourself, 
my  dear,  if  you  cannot  of  me.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  you  in 
trust.' 

'  Only  me  ?  '  she  said  sorrowfully. 

1  Only  you  ! '  said  Thornton  rousing  himself,  for  the  im 
plication  was  not  pleasant.  {  You  are  a  reasonably  precious 
trust,  some  people  think.  And  I  shall  have  to  account 
pretty  strictly  for  all  the  pale  cheeks  that  you  carry  back  to 
town.' 

(  "  And  every  one  of  us  shall  give  account  of  himself  to 
God" '  she  answered  in  a  low  voice,  her  lips  touching  his 
forehead.  But  she  waited  for  no  reply,  and  left  the  room. 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  been  there,  Thornton 
went  softly  in  to  look  at  h^r  when  he  went  up-stairs  and  she 
lay  asleep ;  as  much  perhaps  because  he  was  tired  of  him 
self,  and  tired  of  remembering  his  own  existence,  as  anything. 
And  certainly  if  contrast  could  make  him  forget,  the  end 
was  gained. 

Existence  had  been  no  burden  to  her,  and  life  no  failure 
— what  though  it  was  crossed  with  anxieties  and  disappoint 
ments, — they  were  all  according  to  that  higher  will  to  which 
hers  was  submitted.  Life  could  be  no  failure, — the  purpose 
of  God  must  stand,  and  she  wished  none  other. 


330  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

It  was  a  strange  point  to  reach,  Thornton  thought,  as  he 
stood  watching  her  calm  face,  and  felt  that  whatever  shadows 
lay  there  came  not  from  discontent.  Could  he  ever  reach 
it  ?  was  it  not  rather  of  nature  than  of  grace  ?  It  was 
easier  for  a  woman — with  her  gentler  spirit  and  its  few  out 
lets.  There  came  up  before  him  the  image  of  one  whose 
nature  was  at  least  as  strong  as  his  own,  in  whom  manhood 
was  not  better  grown  than  Christianity;  but  he  put  it  away 
and  looked  at  Rosalie.  And  then  with  a  bitter  wish  that  he 
were  like  her — or  like  anybody  in  the  world  but  himself,  he 
stooped  down  and  softly  kissed  the  lips  whose  repose  he  so 
much  envied. 

They  stirred  a  little,  though  he  caught  no  words,  and 
with  a  long  sigh  Rosalie  folded  her  hands  upon  her  breast 
as  if  she  were  making  a  last  appeal.  Then  they  relaxed 
and  lay  quiet  as  before,  and  the  lips  were  still ;  and  Thorn 
ton  went  away  with  a  quick  step,  feeling  that  from  her  his 
questions  could  get  no  answer  such  as  they  wished.  Any 
excuse — any  belief  which  would  throw  the  responsibility  off 
himself,  he  could  bear, — he  could  bear. to  be  unhappy  and 
discontented,  so  it  touched  not  his  own  omissions.  If  he 
could  have  persuaded  himself  that  he  was  necessarily  rest 
less  and  ill  at  ease,  it  would  have  gone  far  towards  curing  . 
the  evil. 

'  What  nonsense  ! '  he  repeated  to  himself  again  and  again 
— *  I  never  could  quiet  myself  down  to  her  temper,  if  I  tried 
all  my  life ' — and  then  he  remembered  that  he  had  never 
tried  for  one  day. 

This  was  not  the  way  to  get  to  sleep,  however,  as  he 
sagely  remarked;  and  having  banished  all  grave  thoughts 
with  such  vigorous  efforts  as  he  would*  not  have  bestowed 
upon  acting  them  out,  sleep  followed — unbroken  till  Sunday 
morning  had  dawned,  and  its  atmosphere  of  rest  lay  over  the 
wide  landscape. 


SABBATH    BELLS.  331 

There  were  sounds  astir — but  all  sweet,  all  soothing. 
The  twittering  of  the  birds,  the  tinkle  of  the  cow  bells  as 
their  four-footed  wearers  wound  slowly  along  the  meadow- 
course  of  the  brook, — c,  hum  of  voices  from  the  chip-yard, 
where  Martha  and  Tom  were  comparing  notes  with  Jabin, — 
and  nearer  still  a  voluntary  from  Hulda — who  standing  out  in 
the  sunshine  sang  her  morning  hymn  with  birdlike  freedom 
and  enjoyment.  When  another  voice  joined  hers,  and  gave 
strength  and  clearness  to  the  tune  and  distinctness  to  the 
words,  Thornton  closed  his  window  and  betook  himself  with 
great  earnestness  to  the  business  of  dressing. 

But  though  that  business  was  finished  with  much  elabo 
ration,  Thornton  would  not  go  to  church ;  and  Rosalie  staid 
with  him.  Everybody  else  went,  and  the  house  was  left  in 
utter  solitude ;  with  windows  closed  and  doors  bolted,  and 
Trouncer  the  old  bull-dog  lying  in  the  porch  with  his  nose 
between  his  paws. 

Rosalie  persuaded  her  brother  to  come  out  to  the  edge 
of  the  dell  arid  spend  .the  morning  there;  where  the  brook's 
soft  rush  at  their  feet  and  the  bird  notes  up  in  the  air,  were 
all  the  interruptions".  She  had  her  Bible  in  her  hand  and 
sat  down  to  read ;  but  Thornton  sat  leaning  against  an  old 
hickory  tree,  with  his  eyes  sometimes  shaded  by  his  hand 
and  sometimes  by  an  unseen  cloud.  And  so  they  remained; 
with  the  sweet  Sabbath  bell  sounding  forth  in  the  distance 
and  answered  by  another  still  further  off,  until  the  last  ring 
floated  away  on  the  pure  air  and  all  was  still. 

Rosalie  had  closed  her  book  for  listening,  and  now  sat 
with  closed  eyes,  as  if  too  many  senses  were  disturbing. 
Her  brother  watched  her,  unconscious  of  his  gaze  or  that  he 
had  even  raised  his  head. 

Her  face  was  at  rest,  as  of  one  asleep  after  a  weary 
world ;  for  the  bells  with  their  suggestions  and  associations 


332  MY  BROTHER'S  DEEPER. 

had  half  done  sleep's  work.  But  strong  effect  was  given  to 
the  very  delicate  tinting  of  her  face  and  its  too  delicately 
drawn  lines,  by  those  very  grave  ones  in  which  the  mouth 
was  set, — that  had  not  relaxed.  Yet  as  T-hornton  looked  it 
did  relax — and  with  a  slight  trembling  of  the  lips  there  came 
one  of  those  tearful  smiles  that  just  shewed  itself  and  passed 
away. 

1  Rosalie  ! ' 

How  the  face  changed,  how  the  weary  look  came  back, 
he  saw  as  she  turned  towards  him  ;  her  eyelashes  yet  wet 
with  the  drops  of  that  sun-shower. 

1  Do  you  see  that  brook  ?  '   Thornton  said. 

(  Certainly.' 

'  Wouldn't  you  like  to  follow  its  course  out  into  the  open 
sunlight  ? ' 

'  I  have  done  so  many  a  time.' 

*  Is  it  a  pretty  walk  ?  ' 

*  Pretty  and  thoughtful  both,  to  me.' 

1  Take  me  up  the  stream  of  your  thoughts  from  the  sun 
shine  that  was  upon  your  face  just  now.' 

She  looked  at  him  and  then  down  at  the  brook. 

*  It  would  be  a  more  thoughtful  walk  than  the  other.7 

'  No  matter — take  me.     Whence  came  the  sunshine  ?  ' 

Again  she  looked  at  him,  and  away  from  him,  but  the 
eyes  filled  as  she  answered, 

' "  Hitherto  ye  have  asked  nothing  in  my  name :  ask, 
and  ye  shall  receive,  that  your  joy  may  befull"  ' 

Thornton  was  silenced.  If  he  had  expected  Bible  words 
it  would  not  have  been  these ;  and  he  spoke  not  again  for 
some  time.  His  sister  sat  looking  down  at  the  brook  as  be 
fore  ;  and  it  rippled  and  ran  along,  and  flung  its  foam  hither 
and. thither  with  a  wild  hand. 

'  Do  you  believe  that,  Rosalie  ?  '  he  said  at  length. 


BEST.  333 

'  Surely ! ' 

The  look  was  brilliant. 

'  Have  you  never  asked  for  what  you  were  wishing  yes 
terday  ? ' 

Her  eyes  fell,  and  her  lips  could  form  no  answer. 

'  Then  why  is  it  not  done  ? '  said  Thornton,  with  an  effort 
to  keep  his  own  firm. 

She  paused  a  moment,  as  if  to  steady  her  half-choked 
voice,  ere  she  answered.  '  Because  I  have  not  waited 
patiently,  I  believe.  Because,  "  to  them  gave  Jesus  power 
to  become  the  sons  of  God,  even  to  them  that  believe  on  his 
name" ' 

Thornton  was  silenced  again,  and  his  sister  sat  still  for  a 
few  moments  with  such  a  wavering  play  of  thought  and  feel 
ing  upon  her  face,  as  was  like  the  shadowy  leaf-tossed  light 
upon  the  brook.  And  then  after  one  glance  at  him,  coming 
quickly  to  him  and  almost  before  he  was  aware,  her  atm  drew 
him  down  to  a  place  by  her  side,  and  her  voice  spoke  words 
for  him  that  bowed  down  his  heart  like  a  bulrush.  And  with 
the  belief  the  power  came.  He  was  a  changed  man. 


334  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

It  was  autumn,  and  incessant 

Piped  the  quails  from  shocks  and  sheave^ 
And,  like  living  coals,  the  apples 

Burned  among  the  withering  leaves.— LONGFELLOW. 

{  How  come  you  to  follow  the  Capting,  Tom  Skiddy  ?'  said 
Martha. 

Miss  Jum^s  was  enjoying  herself  in  the  farm  kitchen, 
her  feet  stretched  out  to  a  huge  fire,  which  crackled  and  ran 
away  up  chimney,  and  sent  forth  such  a  red  glow  that  the 
room  looked  as  if  whitewashed  with  firelight.  The  tea-ket 
tle  had  done  its  work  for  that  evening,  and  was  pushed  off 
into  one  corner  upon  the  end  of  the  crane ;  while  the  pot  of 
dish-water,  in  like  easy  circumstances,  kept  as  far  away  as 
it  could  in  the  other.  And  between  the  two  ran  up  the 
bright  points  of  flame  from  a  sound  foundation  of  logs, 
which  in  their  turn  overshadowed  the  glowing  bed  of  coals. 
The  ashes  were  carefully  raked  away  right  and  left,  and  in  the 
cleared  space  lay  the  kitchen  tongs  with  its  toes  to  the  fire ; 
its  iron  legs  supporting  a  long  ear  of  corn  of  the  roasting  age — 
full-kernelled,  white  and  delicate.  To  this  Miss  Jumps  lent  a 
part  of  her  attention,  while  another  share  was  bestowed  upon 
Tom  ;  who  in  the  very  focus  of  firelight,  if  there  was  one, 
sat  paring  an  apple  with  his  pocket  knife  and  eating  slices 
of  it  from  time  to  time,  as  if  he  rather  enjoyed  the  business 


THE   REIGN   OF   PINE-KNOTS.  335 

than  otherwise,  and  was  in  no  haste  to  have  done.  Upon 
his  knee  lay  a  little  half-finished  boat,  on  which  Tom's  knife 
had  been  engaged  when  the  fruits  of  the  earth  attracted  his 
attention.  In  the  other  corner  of  the  hearth,  Jerusha  with 
a  basket  of  the  same  fruit  before  her  and  a  tin  pan  at  her 
side,  was  rapidly  skinning  the  apples  by  the  help  of  a  simple 
little  machine  and  its  crooked  knife ;  and  casting  now  and 
then  a  glance  of  great  interest  at  the  two  foreigners.  Be 
yond  them  all,  Mrs.  Hopper's  busy  wheel  kept  its  swift 
whirling,  under  the  skilful  hand  of  its  silent  mistress.  Her 
black  dress  made  a  dark  spot  in  the  glowing  room,  and 
Mrs.  Hopper  looked  if  anything  more  slim  and  gaunt  and 
weather-worn  than  ever.  In  strong  contrast  was  the  bunch 
of  soft  white  rolls  upon  the  wheel,  where  the  firelight  fell 
after  a  mere  glance  at  the  spindle.  The  reel  stood  hard  by, 
and  against  the  wall  hung  a  string  of  brilliant  red  peppers, 
and  several  bunches  of  white  yarn  all  knotted  and  twisted 
up, — being  a  part  of  Mrs.  Hopper's  day's  work  of '  two  run 
and  a  half.'  An  old  cat  lay  dozing  and  stretched  out  at  the 
foot  of  the  wheel — the  close  neighbourhood  of  the  fire  being 
rather  too  hot ;  and  a  fine  tortoise-shell  kitten  and  one  of 
( gray  mixed,'  went  in  frolicksome  tumbles  about  the  room. 

1  How  come  I  to  foller  the  Captain  ? '  said  Tom.  '  Why 
because  the  Captain  led  on  and  I  follered.  Just  giv'  up 
the  business  I  had  in  hand  and  started.' 

'  Easy  business  to  give  up,  wa'n't  it  ? '  said  Miss  Jumps, 
— *  don't  take  common  folks  long  to  lay  down  a  muskit. 
How  do  you  'spose  it  '11  manage  without  you  ?  What  sort 
of  a  time  did  you  have  down  there  on  Long  Island,  Tom 
Skiddy  ?  ' 

1  First  rate,'  said  Tom, — <•  long  as  the  Captain  kept  about. 
Didn't  do  a  person's  feelings  much  good  to  see  him  laid  up. 
I  hadn't  much  chance  to  look  at  him  neither.  How  Mr. 


336  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

Raynor  got  all  his  work  done,  and  the  Captain's,  and  took 
care  of  him  beside,  /  don't  know.' 

'  Guess  likely  he's  a  smart  man,'  said  Martha  demurely. 
'  Jerushy,  don't  none  o'  your  corn  never  stand  still  to  be 
roasted  ?  does  it  all  go  pop-cracking  out  that  fashion  ? ' 

'  It's  only  some  o'  the  grains  bursted  out,'  said  Jerusha, 
bending  down  to  look  at  the  corn  till  her  head  was  in  a 
position  almost  as  fiery.  *  It's  roasting  beautiful,  Miss 
Jumps.' 

'  It's  flying  round  the  world,'  said  Miss  Jumps,  stooping 
down  in  her  turn,  and  endeavouring  to  roll  the  corn  over 
upon  its  roasted  side  ;  to  which  it  responded  by  rolling  into 
the  ashes.  Martha  seized  a  fork  and  tried  that  persuasion  ; 
but  after  uprooting  several  grains  of  the  corn,  the  rest  were 
further  down  in  the  ashes  than  ever,  fizzing  and  sputtering 
at  a  great  rate. 

'  Now  what's  to  be  done  ?  '  said  Martha. 

1  Pick  it  up,  why  don't  you  ! '  said  Mrs.  Hopper. 

{ Tom  can — '  said  Martha, — l  he's  right  in  front  of  the  fire.' 

1  That's  just  where  he  means  to  stay,'  said  Tom.  '  Any 
body  else  may  get  in  that's  a  mind  to.' 

'  Where  upon  airth  were  you  all  fetched  up  ! '  said  Mrs. 
Hopper  coming  forward,  and  with  one  sure  pounce  restoring 
the  corn  to  its  proper  place.  *  'Taint  a  bit  the  worse — ashes 
won't  hurt  ye — nor  fire  neither  if  you  aint  too  keerful  of  it. 
I'm  not  one  of  your  meltin'  away  people,' — and  Mrs.  Hop 
per  returned  to  her  wheel,  and  spun  it  round  with  great 
energy. 

'  I  thought  you  could  do  most  any  thing,  Martha  ? '  said 
Tom. 

1  Well  ? '  said  Martha  with  some  asperity,  ( who  says 
anything  against  it  ?  ' 

But  Tom  wisely  forebore  to  answer,  and  occupied  him 
self  with  a  particularly  large  slice  of  apple. 


THE  KETOBT   COUKTEOUS.  337 

'  It's  astonishing  how  much  people  can  have  to  do  with 
muskits  and  not  learn  to  stand  fire,'  remarked  Miss  Jumps 
rather  scornfully.  *  If  I  was  some  folks  I'd  get  up  and  look 
at  myself.' 

Tom  paused  in  the  munching  of  his  apple  just  long 
enough  to  blow  one  of  its  black  seeds  off  his  finger,  and  then 
fixed  his  attention  upon  the  old  cat ;  who  now  aroused  from 
her  sleep  by  the  wheel,  came  forward  slowly  and  stretching- 
ly,  and  evinced  a  wish  to  shield  Tom  by  taking  up  a  posi 
tion  directly  in  front  of  him.  And  Tom's  foot  accordingly 
gave  her  a  push  which  a  little  more  would  have  converted 
into  a  kick. 

{  Tom  Skiddy,  stop  ! '  said  Martha.  '  I  won't  sit  still 
and  see  you.' 

;  Hop  up  then,'  replied  Tom,  taking  aim  at  the  cat  with 
a  long  apple  paring. 

1  No  I  won't,'  said  Martha, — c  and  you  sha'n't  kick  the 
cat,  neither — that's  more.'  And  the  cat  found  a  safe  rest 
ing-place  in  Martha's  lap. 

I  Heal  Malti'  that  cat  is,'  observed  Mrs.  Hopper ;  '  and  a 
better  couldn't  be.' 

'  The  apples  aint  bad,'  remarked  Tom.  '  Captain  Thorn 
ton  says  he'd  like  a  barrel  or  so  on  'em  to  take  home.' 

'  He  can  have  'em,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  bringing  for 
ward  the  little  reel  and  beginning  to  (  click '  off  her  yarn. 
1  We've  got  as  many  apples  as  most  things  this  season.' 

'  Well  now — '  said  Martha, — '  let's  we  go  pick  'em  up. 
What's  to  hinder  ?  ' 

'  Take  the  cart  along,  and  the  bar'ls,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper, 
*  and  it  aint  bad  sport^  I  can  tell  you.' 

c  Miss  Rosalie  '11  go,  I'll  venture,'  said  Martha ;  l  and 
all  the  rest.' 

I 1  wouldn't  venture  too  much,  if  I  was  you,  Martha,' 

15 


338  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

said  Tom.  l  Catch  Captain  Thornton  out  in  the  field  pick 
ing  up  apples,  and  you'll  catch  a  weasel  asleep  in  a  stone 
wall.' 

'  Why  he  aint  obliged  to  pick  'em  up,  bless  you  !  if  he 
does  go,'  said  Martha ;  '  and  he  aint  a  man  to  be  scared  at 
the  thought  of  pickin'  up  anythin'  so  small  as  apples,  any 
way.  I  say  he'll  go  if  she  does.' 

*  Well,  I  do'  know  but  he  will,'  said  Tom, '  come  to  think 
of  it.     He  does  stick  to  her  like  wax  lately.' 

1  The  better  for  him,'  said  Martha,  '  and  I'll  go  right 
off  and  ask  'em  this  blessed  minute.' 

1  Better  eat  your  corn,'  said  Tom.  *  'Tother  thing  '11 
keep  cool,  and  that  won't.' 

*  See  what  the  day  is  afore  you  ask  your  company,'  said 
Mrs.  Hopper  ;  and  to  that  Martha  agreed. 

The  day  was  as  fine  as  could  be,  and  mellow  as  one  of 
the  many  apples  that  plunged  down  into  the  grass  from  time 
to  time,  as  the  loaded  boughs  swayed  lightly  about.  The 
farm  work  and  the  fall  held  on  their  way  hand  in  hand ; 
but  the  woods  were  gayer  now, .  and  the  wagons  carried 
home  pumpkins  instead  of  wheat,  and  the  hard  yellow  corn 
went  craunchingly  to  its  destination*  in  many  a  well  filled 
pen.  At  Mrs.  Hopper's  back  door — that  is  in  the  road  that 
ran  by  the  dwelling,  and  under  an  old  apple-tree  stood  the 
great  ox-cart, — its  patient  team  with  heaving  sides  and 
bowed  heads  drowsily  awaiting  further  orders.  Half  a  dozen 
of  empty  barrels  stood  near  the  cart ;  and  the  driver — 
a  rather  thin  and  sharp-set  specimen  of  the  natives — was 
leaning  against  the  tree,  overshadowed  by  its  canopy  of  fad 
ing  leaves,  and  with  great  diligence  was  whittling  away  one 
stick  after  another  to  keep  his  hand  in. 

He  looked  up  with  a  kind  of  wondering  and  scornful 
surprise  as  the  house  door  opened,  and  the  whole  family 


LOADING   THE   CAKT.  339 

came  filing  out ;  and  then  merely  stooping  to-  pick  up  a  new 
subject  for  his  knife's  sharp  edge,  he  remarked, 

'  Pity  you  hadn't  thought  to  ask  a  few  o'  the  neighbours, 
and  you  ha'  had  quite  a  muster.' 

*  I  guess  you'll  find  there's  enough  now,'  said  Martha. 

'  How  many  on  ye's  going  in  this  here  cart  ? '  said  the 
man. 

1  Forty — more  or  less,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper. 

'  Can't  do  it,'  said  the  man. 

(  Come  now,  'Zekiel  Mearns,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  '  stow 
away  four  o'  those  bar' Is,  and  be  spry, — and  don't  try  to 
make  me  think  oat  straw's  buckwheat.  Step  round,  now.7 

Mr.  Mearns  permitted  the  corners  of  his  mouth  to  relax 
a  little,  shut  up  his  knife,  and  stepping  round — though  not 
precisely  in  the  way  Mrs.  Hopper  meant — he  swung  up  four 
of  the  barrels  off  the  ground  and  into  the  cart,  and  bestowed 
them  in  close  order  in  that  end  which  was  nearest  the  oxen. 
Then  with  a  nod  of  his  head  he  signified  that  the  field  was 
clear  for  whoso  chose  to  occupy  it. 

'  Get  in  Miss  Clyde,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper. 

1  Bless  your  heart ! '  said  Martha,  *  she's  not  going  to 
ride  so ! '  and  making  a  dive  into  the  house,  Miss  Jumps 
returned  with  a  low  rush-bottomed  chair  which  was  then 
planted  firmly  against  the  barrels,  and  Miss  Clyde  took  pos 
session. 

'  That's  enough,'  said  Mr.  Mearns  taking  up  his  long 
whip.  '  Don't  want  no  more  on  ye.' 

'  0  I  must  ride,'  said  Hulda, '  but  I  can  sit  on  the  floor.' 
And  Thornton  jumped  her  in  likewise. 

c Well,  you  aint  much  heft/  said  the  driver.  '  Ge'  long ! 
haw!' 

'  Now  Mr.  Mearns,  stop,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper.  '  We're 
every  living  soul  of  us  going.' 


340  .  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1  You  aint  going  in  this  cart,'  said  Mr.  Mearns,  lightly 
flapping  his  whip  about  the  ears  of  the  oxen. 

'  I  go  mostly  after  my  own  team  when  I  do  ride,  said 
Mrs.  Hopper, — '  and  you  don't  'spose  we're  going  to  foot  it 
all  the  way  to  that  orchard  ?  ' 

1  You'll  tilt  the  cart  the  worst  kind,'  said  the  driver, 
pushing  his  hat  back  off  his  forehead  and  applying  his  hand 
to  his  hair  with  a  disturbed  look.  '  You'll  tilt  it  up  like 
Jehu.5 

'It  '11  be  the  first  thing  we  ever  did  do  like  him,  I 
guess,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper.  '  Get  right  in,  Martha.' 

And  Martha  got  in,  and  then  Jerusha,  and  then  Mrs. 
Hopper.  Mr.  Mearns  stood  irresolute. 

'  You'll  look  well,  tilting  the  oxen  into  the  air ! '  he 
said. 

1  They'll  look  well,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper,  c  so  well  they'll 
come  down  again,  pretty  quick.'  And  amid  a  burst  of  laugh 
ter  from  the  representatives  of  the  lower  circle,  the  party 
moved  on. 

Moved  on  through  one  meadow  after  another ;  by  a 
pretty  road,  which  was  indeed  but  wheel  tracks  in  the  green 
grass — deep  enough  now  and  then  to  jolt  the  cart  and  its 
occupants  in  a  laugh-exciting  way. 

The  fall  had  laid  its  hand  upon  every  thing  now  :  there 
was  not  a  tree  nor  a  bush  nor  a  flower  but  wore  a  touch  of 
autumn  about  it  somewhere ;  and  over  those  things  which 
change  not  but  with  the  gradual  breaking  up  of  many  sea 
sons — the  fences,  the  farm  buildings,  the  ponds  and  little 
water-veins  of  the  country, — over  and  about  these  lay  a  soft 
haze,  and  they  were  seen  through  a  fall  medium.  The 
green  grass  was  set  thick  with  gay  forest  leaves,  strewn  over 
it  in  every  direction ;  the  tufts  of  fern  bent  their  yellow 
heads  as  gracefully  as  when  they  wore  June's  freshness ; 


THE   ORCHARD.  341 

the  lichens  and  mosses  did  their  beautifying  work  as  well  as 
ever.  There  were  changes  too  in  the  sounds, — flails  and 
fanning  mills  had  taken  the  place  of  scythe  whetting — 
crickets  instead  of  grasshoppers  sped  away  from  intruding 
fect^  and  the  bird  over  head  was  not  a  sparrow — it  was  only 
a  chickadee.  Only  ! — 

The  orchard  field  was  full  before  they  reached  it ;  first 
of  apples  and  then  of  apple-gatherers.  The  loaded  trees 
bent  down  with  their  red  and  green  and  spotted  and  striped 
fruit,  or  shewed  their  round  heads  against  the  distant  forest 
sprinkled  over  as  if  with  roses.  The  long  grass  beneath 
was  worth  the  turning  over  for  the  apples  it  hid ;  and  a 
drove  of  white-sided  porkers  were  pursuing  that  business 
with  grunts  which  if  not  loud  were  deep, — flapping  their 
great  ears,  and  whirling  their  little  tails  to  make  the  most 
of  them.  In  moments  of  rest  they  turned  to  bite  encroach 
ing  companions,  or  gave  a  glance  of  great  wickedness  out  of 
their  little  eyes  towards  the  new  comers.  The  ground 
sloped  gently  down  to  a  frisky  brook  at  the  hill-foot,  just 
enough  to  help  ^ the  momentum  of  any  falling  apple  that 
failed  to  lodge  at  once  in  the  grass ;  and  at  the  brook  edge 
the  ox  cart  was  now  drawn  up  in  state,  emptied  of  all  but 
the  barrels  and  left  alone.  Beneath  -it,  in  the  shade,  lay 
Trouncer,  as  motionless  as  the  oxen  themselves ;  but  all 
other  living  things  had  mounted  the  hill. 

There  were  pretty  moss-covered  rocks  shewing  their 
heads  above  ground  from  place  to  place,  and  on  one  of  these 
Rosalie  seated  herself  to  watch  the  play  on  the  hill-side. 
Thornton  sat  by  her,  but  Ilulda  was  one  of  the  players. 

Mr.  Mearns  had  swung  himself  up  into  one  of  the  trees, 
basket  in  hand,  to  pick  off  such  apples  as  were  for  barrelling; 
while  Tom  on  his  part  had  climbed  another,  and  with  vig 
orous  foot  and  hand  sent  down  showers  of  the  ruddy 


342  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

fruit  to  the  ground  below.  Then  came  a  chase !  'The 
apples  ran  first — had  the  start — and  after  running  a  few 
steps  and  getting  excited  began  to  bound ;  and  at  that  pace 
soon  cleared  the  hill  slope,  and  either  plunged  into  the  brook 
or  flew  against  the  oxen  or  lay  still  ingloriously  on  dry  land. 
Then  came  the  pigs  in  open  phalanx, — grunting  between 
dismay  and  appetite,  running  over  more  apples  than  they 
pursued  ;  and  stopping  now  and  then  to  munch  and  enjoy 
one,  and  to  cast  back  malicious  looks  at  Mrs.  Hopper  and 
Martha,  Jerusha  and  Hulda,  who  bore  down  in  full  tide  of 
conquest  and  at  such  rate  of  speed  as  bipeds  can  maintain 
on  a  side  hill.  At  this  moment  Tom  would  despatch  to 
earth  another  half  bushel  of  apples,  and  both  pigs  and 
women  tried  to  go  up  and  down  at  once.  Then  Martha  and 
a  particularly  large  and  flap-eared  quadruped  having  set 
their  hearts  upon  the  same  apple,  pursued  it  down  hill, — 
the  pig  squealing  and  Martha  shouting,  the  apple  bounding 
along,  regardless  of  bruises,  and  dousing  into  the  brook. 
At  such  a  termination  the  pig  gained  the  prize  ;  for  he  fol 
lowed  the  apple,  and  stood  with  his  fee|  in  the  brook, 
munching  and  looking  up-hill,  whither  Miss  Jumps  was  re 
tracing  her  weary  steps.  Sometimes  just  as  the  chase  was 
near  the  end,  Trouncer  roused  up  from  his  slumbers,  and 
standing  on  the  alert  he  seized  the  flying  apple  and  stood 
confronting  Miss  Jumps — his  mouth  kept  open  by  it  as  with 
a  corn-cob, — then  dropped  it  as  an  unprofitable  speculation. 
Of  all  the  trials  to  Miss  Jumps  on  those  occasions,  the 
worst  was  Tom's  laugh  from  the  top  of  his  apple  tree. 

'  It  strikes  me,  Tom  Skiddy,'  she  said,  approaching  the 
scene  of  his  activity,  *  that  of  the  two  you'd  be  worth  most 
down  here.' 

To  which  Tom  replied  by  such  a  fire  of  well-directed  ap 
ples  that  Martha  was  fain  to  run  away. 


GOING   HOME.  343 

'  Como  down,  will  you  ! '  she  said  from  a  distance  ;  c  and 
stop  that.' 

*  There's  a  firstrater  going  down  hill,'  was  Tom's  answer. 

1  I'm  not  going  after  it,  if  it  is,'  said  Miss  Jumps.  But 
perceiving  her  old  enemy  of  the  large  ears  addressing  her 
self  leisurely  to  the  pursuit — there  was  no  withstanding 
the  temptation,  and  Martha  was  off  again. 

.  The  cart  went  home  at  night  well  loaded  with  apples, 
and  the  little  train  of  gatherers  went  home  well  tired. 
The  day  had  changed  too ;  and  now  soft  grey  streaks 
athwart  the  western  horizon  foretold  different  weather. 
The  wind  went  sighing  through  the  treas,  rising  now  and 
then  into  a  chill  gust,  and  rustling  the  fallen  leaves — so 
brown  looking  and  drear,  despoiled  of  the  sunbeams  :  lights 
twinkled  out  from  hill  and  valley ;  and  wood  fires  and  tea 
and  bed  became  the  pleasantest  things  in  prospect. 


344  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

All  is  but  lip-wisdom  which  wants  experience : 

I  now,  wo  is  me,  do  try  what  love  can  do.— SIDNEY. 

'  How  long  are  we  going  to  be  here,  Alie  ?  '  said  Hulda  as 
they  sat  at  tea. 

1 1  do  not  know — you  must  ask  Thornton.' 

1  How  long  ? '  Hulda  repeated,  looking  at  him. 

'  I  do  not  know.' 

1  But  that's  very  funny  ! '  said  Hulda. 

{ I  am  not  sure  but  I  shall  go  to  New  York  for  a  week 
or  so  before  you  do,  Rosalie,'  said  her  brother. 

1  What  for  ? ' 

'  0  sundry  things.  I  must  see  Marion — give  the  re 
quired  promise  and  make  her  redeem  her  own.' 

<  Not  till  I  come  ? ' 

*  No,  not  that.  But  there  are  other  matters  to  arrange. 
At  what  time  in  the  future  is  the  Quakerage  to  be  blessed 
with  a  new  queen  ?  ' 

'  I  am  sure  I  know  not,'  said  his  sister  as  composedly  as 
she  could. 

1  I  believe,'  said  Thornton,  '  that  in  a  voluntary  change 
of  dynasty  it  is  usual  for  the  reigning  power  to  withdraw  to 
another  court, — else  might  the  new  comer  be  branded  as  a 
usurper.  And  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  best  for  you  to  give 


LIVE  WITH   HIM  !  345 

Marion   any  lessons  in  the  science   of  government.      She 
rather  needs  guardianship  herself.' 

I  She  will  have  it  now.'  Rosalie  said ;    the  warm  flush  of 
joy  and  thankfulness  coming  over  her  face. 

'  Better  than  she  once  could,  I  trust,'  said  Thornton 
gravely.  '  0  Alie  !  my  dear  child  !  what  a  guardian  you 
have  been  ! ' 

*  Not  I — '  was  all  she  could  answer  ;   and  Hulda  looked 
wonderingly  from  face  to  face,  and  saw  the  one  not  less 
stirred  than  the  other. 

I 1  was  not  so  selfish  as  I  seemed,'  Thornton  said,  when 
they  left  the  table  and  stood  musingly  before  the  fire.     '  I 
knew  you  gave  up  a  great  deal  for  me,  but  I  did  not  know 
how  much.     I  could  not,  without  knowing   Henry  better ; 
and  by  keeping  him  at  a  distance  I  partly  kept  off  the  be 
lief  of  some  things  that  concerned  him.3 

1  Who  is  Henry  ? '  said  Hulda,  who-  had  been  watching 
for  some  word  which  she  could  understand. 

(  Your  friend  Mr.  Raynor.  Of  whom  his  mother  justly 
remarks,  there  is  but  one  in  the  world.' 

c  I  wish  he  would  come  here,'  said  Hulda.  '  I  want  to 
see  him  very  much.' 

c  So  do  I,'  said  Thornton.  And  bringing  a  chair  to  the 
fire  he  sat  down  and  took  Hulda  on  his  lap. 

c  How  would  you  like  to  live  with  him,  Hulda  ? ' 

'  Live  with  him  ! '  cried  Hulda.     '  What  all  the  time  ? ' 

'  Thornton ' — Rosalie  said. 

'  Be  quiet  Alie,  and  trust  me  for  once.     Well  Hulda  ? ' 

*  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  ! '    said  the  child  with  a 
very  puzzled  face.     '  I  couldn't  leave  Rosalie.' 

'  Put  Rosalie  out  of  the  question.' 

c  But  I  shouldn't  want  to  leave  you,  now,'  said  Hulda, 
her  eyes  looking  up  to  his  with  all  the  enjoyment  of  trust. 
15* 


346  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

She  little  knew  how  straight  both  look  and  words  went 
to  her  brother's  heart,  nor  guessed  the  meaning  of  the  quick 
breath  he  drew  in  that  moment  of  silence. 

'  I  think  we  must  arrange  a  compromise,  Alie,  don't 
you  ?  How  would  you  like  then  Hulda,  to  live  half  the 
time  with  Mr.  Raynor  and  half  the  time  with  me  ?  Or 
would  you  rather  live  half  the  time  with  Eosalie  and  half 
with  Marion  ?  ' 

'  But  then  there'd  be  nobody  to  take  care  of  Rosalie,'  said 
Hulda.  '  And  if  I  lived  with  you  and  Mr.  Raynor  there'd 
be  nobody  to  take  care  of  me.' 

'  You  know  your  lesson  sufficiently  well,'  said  Thornton 
laughing.  '  What  do  you  say,  Alie  ? ' 

She  did  not  say  anything ;  but  sat  there  on  a  low  seat 
by  the  fire,  reading  histories  in  its  bright  play,  until  Hulda 
was  rer*dy  to  go  to  bed ;  and  then  went  with  her,  and  re 
turning  softly  sat  down  as  before. 

*  "U" «  7  don't  you  answer  my  question  about  the  Quaker- 
age  ?  '  Thornton  said,  moving  his  seat  close  to  hers.     c  Am 
I  borr  1  to  learn  it  first  from  another  quarter  ?  ' 

1  L  cannot  tell  you  what  I  do  not  know  myself,  dear 
Thornton.' 

'  Yes,  but  upon  whose  decision  does  your  knowledge 
wait?' 

1  I.  cannot  decide  upon  anything  to-night — and  I  would 
rather  talk  on  some  other  subject.  Rather  think  of  the  end 
of  life  than  of  its  way.' 

*  You   are  not  well,'   Thornton   said,  putting   his   arm 
round  her  and  drawing  her  head  down  upon  his  breast. 

'  Not  perfectly — or  else  I  am  a  little  tired.' 

He  stroked  her  forehead  and  stooped  down  and  kissed 

tt,  and  then  sat  looking  at  her  in  silence.     But  after  a  few 

-noments  she  looked  up  and  smiled. 


THE  EDGE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS.       347 

1  I  believe  I  am  tired— that  need  not  hinder  our  talking.' 

'  What  shall  we  talk  about,  precious  one  ? '  he  said. 
'  What  were  you  thinking  of,  with  your  eye  upon  the  fire  ? 
What  did  you  see  there  ?  an  ideal  presence  ? ' 

'  No,'  she  said  with  a  faint  colour — l  at  least  not  when 
you  spoke  to  me.  I  was  thinking  of  the  journey  through 
the  wilderness.  "  Tlwu  shalt  remember  all  the  way  which 
the  Lord  thy  God  led  thee  these  forty  years  in  the  wilder- 
ness,  to  humble  thee,  and  to  prove  thee,  to  know  what  was 
in  thine  heart,  whether  thou  wouldst  keep  his  command 
ments  or  no.  And  he  humbled  thee,  and  suffered  thee  to 
hunger,  and  fed  thee  with  manna,  which  thou  knewest  not; 
that  he  might  make  thee  know  that  man  doth  not  live  by 
bread  only,  but  by  every  word  that  proceedeth  out  of  the 
mouth  of  the  Lord  doth  man  live." ' 

*  And  then  ? '  Thornton  said. 

'  Not  much  else,'  she  answered  with  that  same  little 
flush.  '  I  was  thinking  how  even  Moses  desired  to  see  the 
promised  land  in  this  world.' 

'  What  has  come  over  you  to-night,  Alie  ? '  said  her 
brother.  '  When  did  this  world's  land  of  promise  ever 
make  you  forget  the  better  country  ?  ' 

1  It  is  easier  given  up  in  the  wilderness  than  on  the  bor 
ders  of  Canaan.  But  if  the  Lord  hath  said,  "  Let  it  suffice 
thee  concerning  this'11 — good  is  his  word  which  he  hath 
spoken.  "  The  Lord  is  thy  life,  and  the  length  of  thy 
days  " — how  true  that  is  ! ' 

1  Rosalie,'  said  her  brother  with  a  look  that  was  both 
fearful  and  wondering — for  she  had  raised  her  head  again, 
and  was  eyeing  the  fire  in  the  same  intent  and  abstracted 
way  ;  '  you  are  tired,  you  are  not  well.  Let  me  carry  you 
up-stairs  now,  and  to-morrow  you  may  talk  more  of  these 
things.' 


348  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  I  believe  I  am  tired,'  she  said  again,  but  without 
ing, — '  my  mind  feels  tired.     Tell  me  something  to  rest  it. 
Words  of  comfort  are  so  sweet  from  you.' 

*  And  my  knowledge  of  them  is  so  small  compared  with 
your  own,  Alie.     You  must  not  let  even  part  of  this  be  true 
of  you,  dear — it  was  all  true  once  of  me.' 

' "  My  people  hath  been  lost  sheep — they  have  turned 
them  away  on  the  mountains  :  they  have  gone  from  moun 
tain  to  hill,  they  have  forgotten  their  resting-place"  ' 

As  if  a  cloud  had  rolled  away  from  before  her  eyes,  so 
did  Rosalie  look  up  at  him, — a  child's  very  look,  of  quiet 
ness  and  peace. 

*  I  will  not  forget  it,'  she  said.     "  For  thus  saith  the 
Lord,  the  Holy  One  of  Israel :  In  returning  and  rest  shall 
ye  be  saved ;    in  quietness  and  confidence  shall  be  your 
strength.     And  the  work  of  righteousness  shall  be  peace  ; 
and  the  effect  of  righteousness  quietness  and  assurance  for 
ever.     And  tny  people  shall  dwell  in  a  peaceable  habitation, 
and  in  sure  dwellings,  and  in  quiet  resting-places" ' 

The  words  were  spoken  clearly  and  strongly,  though 
rather  as  if  thinking  than  speaking ;  but  as  she  rose  then 
to  go  up-stairs  the  colour  faded  swiftly  from  her  cheeks,  and 
laying  her  hand 'on  Thornton  with  a  confused  look,  sense 
and  strength  failed  together. 

Thornton  carried  her  up-stairs  and  laid  her  on  the  bed, 
and  toil-hardened  hands  tried  their  gentlest  powers  about 
her  ;  but  when  at  length  paleness  and  unconsciousness 
yielded  to  their  efforts,  it  was  to  give  place  in  turn  to  a  bril 
liant  colour  and  a  fevered  sleep. 

In  silence  Thornton  sat  by  her  through  the  night, — re 
membering  with  intense  bitterness  the  years  of  her  society 
that  he  had  shunned,  and  feeling  that  whatever  might  be 
the  effect  of  this  sickness  he  could  not  say  a  word.  The 


THE   COLD   DAYLIGHT.  349 

women  went  softly  about  the  room,  attending  to  the  fire  and 
bathing  the  poor  sleeper's  forehead  and  hands;  but  whatever 
words  they  spoke  were  scarce  whispered  out,  and  Rosalie's 
quick  breathings  fell  on  her  brother's  ear  without  interrup 
tion.  How  he  wished  her  away  from  there, — with  her  own 
physician,  in  her  own  home — with  other  friends  within  reach. 
Such  skill  as  could  be  found  in  the  neighbourhood  was  called 
in,  and  pronounced  her  disease  to  be  a^slow  fever ;  more  te 
dious  than  dangerous  unless  it  should  take  some  special 
type,  but  requiring  -constant  care  and  watchfulness.  And 
until  the  day  came  streaming  in  through  the  windows, 
Thornton  hardly  removed  his  eyes  from  her  face. 

How  cold  the  daylight  looked  !  how  cheerless  :  and  yet 
the  sun  shone  brilliantly  clear,  and  the  tufts  of  autumn 
leaves  with  which  the  trees  were  spotted  shewed  their  gayest 
tints ;  and  the  birds  sang  and  twittered  their  merriest. 
But  the  contrast  was  lost  upon  Thornton,  for  his  eye  and 
ear  took  little  note  of  anything  but  Rosalie  ;  and  the  morn 
ing  came  on,  and  the  women  went  softly  in  and  out,  and  he 
scarce  noticed  them  nor  heard  their  low  consultation. 

At  length  Mrs.  Hopper  came  up  to  him. 

x  Mr.  Clyde,'  she  said,  '  the  very  best  thing  you  can  do 
is  to  go  where  you  can  be  o'  some  use.  You  can't  do  her 
the  least  bit  o'  good  stayin'  here,  and  that  poor  little  soul 
down  stairs  '11  cry  her  eyes  out  afore  long,  if  there  don't 
some  one  speak  to  her.'  • 

Thornton  sprang  up  instantly  and  left  the  room,  remem 
bering  that  Rosalie  would  never  have  forgotten  anybody  as 
he  had  forgotten  Hulda  :  even  in  her  deepest  sorrow. 

1  How  far,  how  very  far  she  is  on  the  way  which  T  am. 
but  beginning  to  tread,'  he  thought  as  he  went  down  stairs. 

Hulda  was  in  the  sitting-room,  crouched  down  on  the 
floor  in  one  corner,  pouring  out  a  flood  of  sorrow  that  was 


350  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

exhausted  only  in  its  tone, — there  was  no  stay  to  the  tears. 
And  when  Thornton  raised  her  up  in  his  arms  and  tried  all 
his  powers  of  soothing  and  caressing,  the  child  shook  all 
over  in  the  violence  of  her  grief. 

'  They  won't  let  me  see  her  ! '  she  cried.  *  They  won't 
let  me  even  go  into  the  room  !  And  I  wouldn't  make  the 
least  noise — and  oh  I  know  she  would  let  me  ! ' 

'  Do  you  think  you  could  keep  perfectly  quiet  ? '  Thorn 
ton  said,  putting  his  face  down  by  hers. 

c  O  yes  !     0  yes  ! ' 

1  Then  I  will  take  you  up  there ;  but  first  you  must  wait 
a  little,  for  Rosalie  would  be  troubled  to  see  all  these  tears. 
I  am  going  to  write  to  Marion  to  ask  her  to  come  here,  and 
you  shall  sit  quiet  on  my  lap  till  that  is  done.' 

I  Do  you  think  she  will  come  ? '    Hulda  said,  as  she 
watched  the  rapid  tracing  of  his  pen,  and  tried  the  while 
to  seal  up  her  tears. 

I 1  am  sure  that  she  will.' 

And  almost  tired  out,  Hulda  lay  drooping  on  his  neck 
until  more  than  one  letter  was  written  and  folded,  and  he 
was  ready  to  take  her  up-stairs. 

She  kept  her  promise  of  quietness, — shed  no  tears  unless 
silent  ones,  and  sat  on  Thornton's  lap  or  stood  by  his  side 
in  perfect  stillness,  as  long  as  he  would  let  her.  And  when 
he  knew  that  she  ought  to  be  out  in  the  fresh  air,  and  told 
her  so,  and  begged  her  to  go  with  Martha, — Hulda's  mute 
distress  was  so  great  that,  there  was  no  help  for  it,  he  must 
take  her  himself. 

It  was  a  lesson  for  him,  all  this, — he  began  to  try  his 
hand  at  self-denial,  and  to  learn  the  lesson  which  Rosalie 
had  so  long  practised.  True  his  watching  eyes  could  do 
her  no  good — both  days  and  nights  were  passed  in  the  rest 
lessness  or  the  sleep  of  fever,  and  often  she  seemed  hardly 


A   LEARNER.  351 

to  know  him.  But  for  himself,  what  comfort  anything  on 
earth  could  give  he  found  at  her  side.  And  now  he  must 
devote  himself  to  another's  comfort — must  walk  with  Hulda 
and  talk  to  her  and  bear  with  her,  and  keep  her  as  much  as 
possible  out  of  the  sick  room.  He  could  not  in  conscience 
let  her  be  in  it,  and  to  send  her  out  with  Martha  plunged 
Hulda  into  the  very  depths  of  grief.  Sitting  on  her 
brother's  lap  with  her  arm  round  his  neck,  and  probing  his 
distress  with  her  earnest  questions, — walking  with  him — 
hearing  him  read,  and  never  failing  to  bring  up  Rosalie's 
name  at  every  turn,  she  was  comparatively  cheerful.  It  was 
something  new  for  him — something  against  his  whole  nature 
and  experience.  And  nature  rebelled.  But  as  if  they  had 
been  stamped  on  his  mind,  checking  every  impatient  thought 
and  word,  bidding  even  sorrow  and  weariness  give  place  and 
bide  their  time,  these  words  were  ever  before  him — 

"For  even  Christ  pleased  not  himself"- — and  "  If ye  love 
me,  keep  my  commandments" 

If  Hulda  mourned  her  sister's  illness,  it  was  not  because 
her  brother  ceased  trying  to  fill  her  place, 


352  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

"  It  will  make  you  melancholy,  Monsieur  Jaques."— As  You  Like  It. 

1  HENRY  RAYNOR,'  said  the  quakeress  to  her  son,  one  day 
when  he  had  come  over  from  Long  Island  to  dine  with  her ; 
'isn't  thee  wellnigh  tired  of  thy  present  way  of  life  ?  " 

'  It  is  not  the  pleasantest  way  that  I  could  imagine,  mo 
ther.' 

*  Then  why  does  thee  pursue 'it  ?  ' 

( It  seemeth  right  unto  me,'  said  Mr.  Raynor,  assum 
ing  as  he  often  did  the  quaker  diction. 

'  And  thee  is  resolved  to  follow,  even  to  the  end,  these 
unhallowed  proceedings  ? ' 

'  Nay  mother,  call  them  not  so.  The  English  have  not 
shown  themselves  so  tender  of  other  places  which  they  have 
taken,  that  we  need  wish  our  own  city  tp  fall  into  their 
hands.' 

' "  The  Lord  will  fight  for  you,  and  ye  shall  hold  your 
peace,"  '  said  the  quakeress. 

Mr.  Raynor  smiled  a  little. 

'  What  do  you  think  of  this,  mother  ? — the  very  first 
words  of  Deborah's  song. 

* "  Praise  ye  the  Lord  for  the  avenging  of  Israel,  when 
the  people  willingly  offered  themselves."  ' 


A   LETTER.  353 

His  mother  shook  her  head  at  him,  but  answered  the 
smile,  nevertheless. 

'  Thee  must  hold  thine  own  notions,  but  thee  need  never 
talk  of  Friends  being  stiff  in  theirs.  Thee  will  be  fonder 
of  peace  when  thee  is  married.' 

*  When — '  Mr.   Raynor  thought,  as  he  stood  musingly 
before  the  fire, — and  yet  there  did  seem  some  possibility  of 
it  now.     But  he  only  said, 

*  Tha,t  could  hardly  be,  mother.' 

*  Has  thee  seen  Penn  to-day  ?  '  inquired  the  quakeress. 
4  Not  for  two  or  three  days.' 

'  He  talketh  so  fast  that  one  knoweth  not  well  what  he 
saith,'  Mrs.  Raynor  went  on,  '  but  if  I  mistook  not,  he  hath 
a  letter  for  thee,  and  from  the  north.' 

'  Where  is  he  ?  ' 

1  Nay,  that  I  cannot  tell.  Perchance  he  may  be  in  his 
room.' 

Mr.  Raynor  sought  him  there,  but  there  he  was  not  j 
neither  did  he  make  his  appearance  at  dinner. 

{  Well,  trouble  not  thyself,'  said  the  quakeress ;  '  when 
he  doth  return  I  will  send  him  over  to  thee.' 

And  with  that  promise  Mr.  Raynor  was  fain  to  content 
himself,  and  to  turn  his  face  once  more  toward  Long  Island. 
But  it  was  an  unsatisfactory  thing  to  leave  the  letter  behind 
him ;  and  in  a  most  unsatisfied  mood  he  paced  down  Broad 
way,  more  leisurely  than  was  his  wont,  and  scanned  the 
passers  by  on  either  side.  The  one  particularly  jaunty  and 
carelessly  worn  cap  that  he  wished  to  see,  however,  was  not 
to  be  seen  ;  and  his  search  came  to  an  end  at  the  ferry,  when 
his  horse  had  with  prettily  feigned  shyness,  carried  him  OB 
board  the  boat.  He  did  not  dismount,  but  sat  looking  off 
into  the  distance. 

There  had  been  a  storm — one  of  those  stragglers  from 


354  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

Summer's  troop  that  sometimes  bring  up  the  march  in  Oc 
tober  ; — but  it  was  over  now,  and  the  growling  clouds  lay 
swept  together  in  the  east ;  their  angry  flashes,  scarce  seen 
for  the  sunshine  that  had  followed.  Over  head  was  a  broad 
band  of  the  deepest  blue,  with  just  a  few  little  dripping 
clouds  scudding  across  it ;  and  the  sunshine  had  come  out 
with  a  burst,  as  if  all  its  unseen  light  of  the  last  hour  had 
been  treasured  up  for  this. 

But  even  as  Mr.  Raynor  sat  there  in  the  beautiful  light, 
wondering  at  its  ever  new  beauty,  a  low  murmur  from  the 
west  drew  his  eyes  thither.  The  blue  had  not  changed  its 
depth  nor  its  clearness,  but  slowly  impinging  upon  it  came 
other  cloud  heads  up  from  the  western  horizon,  and  a  light 
shadow  fell  over  the  face  of  things.  Most  fine  the  sight 
was,  and  Mr.  Raynor  was  apt  to  recognize  its  full  beauty ;  yet 
now  as  he  looked,  his  looks  grew  darker.  Half  consciously, 
half  unconsciously,  he  had  made  the  change  in  the  weather 
a  type  of  other  changes — his  fancy  had  been  revelling  in  the 
sunshine ;  and  these  new  cloud  heads  that  came  on  apace  seemed 
to  shadow  the  mind's  glow  as  well.  Instinctively  his  thought 
took  up  the  beautiful  words  of  the  preacher,  and  he  remembered 
that  there  is  but  one  time  in  life  "  when  the  sun,  nor  the 
light,  nor  the  moon,  nor  the  stars  are  not  darkened,  nor  the 
clouds  return  after  the  rain" 

It  was  an  unwonted  thought  for  him,  whose  trust  was 
in  general  so  bright,  so  unmurmuring;  and  chiding  himself 
almost  for  the  very  remembrance,  he  turned  to  see  again 
how  fairly,  how  perfectly  one  storm  had  rolled  away — why 
should  not  the  rest  do  likewise  ? 

'  Let  it,  or  let  it  not ! '  was  his  next  thought ;  for  from 
one  storm  and  in  the  face  of  another,  the  sunshine  had  drawn 
out  the  token  of  the  everlasting  covenant  between  heaven 
and  earth,  and  the  bow  of  promise  bound  both  together. 


THE  SAILING  OF   A  CLOUD.  355 

"  My  covenant  will  I  not  break,  nor  alter  the  tiling  that 
is  gone  out  of  my  lips"  And  what  was  that  covenant? — 
"  Even  the  sure  mercies  of  David"  "I  will  be  to  them  a 
God,  and  they  shall  be  to  me  a  people." 

"He  causeth  the  cloud  to  come,"  Mr.  Raynor  remem 
bered,  "  whether  for  correction^  for  his  land,  or  in  mercy? 

The  short  October  afternoon  was  already  ended  when 
Mr.  Raynor  reached  the  little  volunteer  camp  on  Long 
Island,  lying  quietly  there  in  a  mingling  of  light  <fjd 
darkness  j  for  the  moon  was  shining  down  between  clouds, 
and  the  sprinkling  of  private  lights  contrasted  well  with  the 
clear,  cold  patches  of  moonshine.  Mr.  Raynor  gave  the 
word,  and  passing  the  lines  to  his  own  tent,  he  found  there 
the  object  of  his  search.  At  least  one  of  them.  Mr.  Penn 
was  making  himself  as  comfortable  as  circumstances  would 
allow,  with  three  or  four  camp  stools ;  his  back  supported 
by  the  locker,  on  which  stood  a  light ;  his  hands  supporting 
the  evening  paper. 

1  You  don't  mean  to  say  you've  come  back,  Major  Harry  ?' 
was  the  young  gentleman's  salutation,  as  he  extended  him 
self  a  little  more  at  length  upon  the  camp  stools. 

4  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  found  ? '  was  his 
cousin's  reply. 

'  Why  yes,  I  suppose  I  am,'  said  Penn.  *  Absolutely 
detected  in  the  act  of  burning  your  candle  and  reading  your 
paper.  I've  brought  you  something  else  to  read,  though.' 

'  So  I  understand.     Are  you  sure  you  have  brought  it?' 

'  Why  of  course,'  said  Penn.  '  At  least  it  would  be 
very  odd  if  I  hadn't,  when  I  came  over  on  purpose.  I  don't 
know  but  I  should  have  sent  it,  only  that  I  saw  it  was  from 
Captain  Clyde  ;  and  I  should  like  to  hear  news  of  him  well 
enough.' 

'  How  long  do  you  mean  that  I  shall  wait  for  the  news 
myself?' 


356  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1  Only  till  I  can  find  it,'  said  Mr.  Penn,  despatching 
several  messengers  into  his  pockets.  'It's  somewhere,  I 
do  presume.  Don't  be  impatient,  Harry — you  never  are 
that  I  know  of,  only  you  don't  just  remind  one  of  Patience 
on  a  monument,  in  your  present  position  of  uprightness. 
"  Wm.  Penn  Raynor,  Esqr." — that's  not  it.  What's  this — 
"  To  making  one"  ' — 

'  If  you  will  give  me  your  coat,'  said  Mr.  Raynor,  '  I 
will  save  you  some  trouble  and  myself  some  time.' 

'  Take  something  else,'  said  Penn — '  a  book,  can't  you, 
till  I  find  it.  .No  trouble  at  all,  thank  you  Harry.  I  don't 
believe  it's  in  this  coat,  any  way.  But  do  take  something 
else  in  the  meanwhile.  Now  there's  a  letter  would  amuse 
you  like  anything — from  Rutgers — one  of  my  privateering 
friends,  you  know,  Harry.  Capital  letters  he  writes,  too.' 

'  I  think  I  would  rather  have  my  own  first,'  said  Mr. 
Raynor. 

{  Yes,  if  you  could  get  it  first,  but  there's  the  very  thing. 
Do  you  know,'  said  Penn,  taking  his  hands  from  his  pock 
ets  and  lolling  back  on  the  camp-stools,  'Rutgers  says  the 
queerest  thing  in  that  letter  ! — Absolutely  heard  in  Charles 
ton  that  I  was  engaged  to  Miss  Clyde  ! — as  if  I  ever  thought 
of  such  a  thing  ! ' 

'  You  are  quite  sure  you  never  did  ?  '  said  Mr.  Raynor, 
his  eyes  sending  forth*  a  little  flash  into  the  dusky  gloom 
of  the  tent.  Then  subsiding  again,  he  said,  '  My  letter, 
Penn  ! ' 

'  Why  can't  you  sit  down  and  be  easy  ? '  said  Penn. 
1  I  tell  you  I  can't  find  it.  Maybe  I  left  it  at  home  in  an 
other  pocket — you  know  I  might  have  changed  my  coat 
You  shall  have  it  in  the  morning.' 

*  I  must  have  it  to-night.' 

'  Then  I  must  find  it  in  this  coat,'  said  Penn  ; — (  can't 


WHAT   NEWS?  357 

go  over  and  back  again — out  of  the  question.  Here  it  is 
this  minute — slipped  into  that  letter  of  Rutgers' — if  you'd 
only  taken  that  as  I  wanted  you  to — ' 

'  If  you  will  give  me  one  of  these  camp-stools,  Penn,' 
said  Mr.  Raynor,  '  and  a  small  share  of  the  light,  I  will  let 
you  take  anything  else  that  you  can  lay  your  hands  or  your 
feet  on.'  And  so  far  accommodated  he  sat  down  to  read  his 
letter. 

Penn  watched  him  for  a  while,  but  the  pages  were  long 
turning  over  and  the  face  unreadable. 

1  What  news  ? '  he  said,  when  at  length  the  letter  was 
folded  up. 

(  Nothing  that  would  interest  you  particularly.' 

'  All  well,  I  hope  ?  '  said  Penn. 

{  Not  all,'  said  Mr.  Raynor. 

'  Not  ? '  said  Penn.  '  Well,  it's  good  they're  not  all 
sick.  Best  to  take  the  bright  view  of  things,  you  know. 
But  I  shall  be  really  glad  to  see  Miss  Clyde  back  again — 
she's  always  so  agreeable  and  ' — 

1  Hush,  Penn  ! '  said  his  cousin  almost  sternly  ;  and  in 
wondering  curiosity  Mr.  Penn  held  his  peace. 

Only  for  a  time  ;  then  he  began  again. 

(  How  do  you  suppose  that  letter  got  delayed,  Harry  ? ' 

'  Delayed  ? '  said  Mr.  Raynor  raising  his  head. 

1  Ever  so  many  days,'  said  Penn  carelessly, — '  didn't 
you  look  at  the  postmark  ?  ' 

He  looked  now,  and  at  the  date — both  told  the  same 
story.  Mr.  Raynor  started  up  and  began  to  put  on  the 
overcoat  which  he  had  just  thrown  off. 

c  You're  not  going  out  in  this  weather  ? '  said  Penn. 
'  Just  hear  the  rain,  once  ! ' 

'  I  shall  do  that  to  better  advantage  out  of  doors — '  and 
he  was  gone. 


358  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

Perm  looked  and  wondered,  and  then  slept.  When  he 
awoke,  Mr.  Raynor  sat  in  his  former  place  with  his  head 
resting  on  his  hand. 

'  I  had  the  queerest  dream  ! '  said  Penn  rousing  him 
self, — '  that  you  rushed  out  into  a  pouring  shower  in  spite 
of  all  I  could  say.  And  now  here  you  are,  and  there  is  the 
moon.  "What  a  nice  place  you  have  here,  Harry — quite  en 
viable.' 

'  To  look  at,'  said  his  cousin.  '  I  doubt  whether  you 
would  like  it  upon  further  acquaintance  ?  ' 

'  Yes  I  should,'  said  Penn.  '  I  should  like  to  live  here 
amazingly.  I  wouldn't  have  staid  in  New  York  another  day 
if  I  could  have  got  officer's  quarters  here.' 

1  How  should  you  like  to  take  my  place  here  for  a  while, 
Penn  ?  '  said  his  cousin  looking  up. 

1  Like  it  ?  of  all  things  !     But  where  are  you  going  ?  ' 

1  Out  of  town  for  a  few  days.' 

'  To-morrow  ?  '  said  Penn. 

I  No  ;  I  find  I  cannot  get  away  to-morrow.     But  when 
ever  I  do.' 

*  Of  all  things,  as  I  said  before,'  repeated  Penn.     '  I 
wish  you  had  a  dozen  such  places,  that  I  might  fill  them 
all' 

'  I  think  you  will  find  one  answer  your  turn,'  said  his 
cousin. 

'  But  where  are  you  going  ?  '  said  Penn,  his  pleasure  half- 
swallowed  up  in  curiosity. 

*  Out  of  town,  as  I  said.' 

I 1  shall  be  very  happy  to  do  any  thing  I  can,  then,'  said 
Penn,  c  but  I  can't  conceive  what  should  take  you  away.' 

"Which  however  Mr.  Raynor  did  not  tell  him. 
'  Everybody  is  going  away  I  think,'  said  Penn.*     '  I  stop 
ped   at  Miss  Arnet's   to-night,  and  she  was  out  of  town. 


THE   MATTER.  359 

Gone  off  quite  suddenly,  the  waiter  said.  Sent  for — he 
didn't  know  /where.  Harry,  you  look  sober — what's  the 
matter?  Certainly  you  don't  care  about  Miss  Arnet?  ' 

'  Not  much,'  said  his  cousin. 

'  Then  I  say  what's  the  matter  ?  ' 

'  "  There  came  a  great  wind  from  the  wilderness  and 
smote  the  four  corners  of  the  house,  and  it  fell""1  Mr. 
Kaynor  answered  as  he  turned  away. 

Penn  looked  after  him,  but  seeing  the  Bible  which  Mr. 
Kaynor  had  now  taken  up,  he  thought  that  possibly  it  had 
been  in  his  hand  before,  and  that  he  had  but  read  aloud. 


360  MY   BROTHER^   KEEPER. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

O  nuncle,  court  holy-water  in  a  dry  house  is  better  than  this  rain-water  out  o'  door. 
In,  nuncle,  in. — King  Lear. 

THERE  was  no  clock  in  Mrs.  Hopper's  house  to  strike  the 
hour,  but  stillness  did  the  work  as  well  and  said  that  it  was 
very  late ;  past  midnight,  the  stars  would  have  added,  had 
they  been  visible.  But  it  was  raining  heavily  though  with 
little  wind  :  the  rain  came  straight  down  from  the  clouds  and 
dripped  straight  down  in  double  measure  from  the  trees. 
One  little  stream  of  light  shot  out  into  the  damp  air  from 
an  upper  window  of  the  house,  but  below  all  was  dark 
and  shut  up  and  silent ;  and  even  the  old  house  dog,  who 
early  in  the  evening  had  howled  a  little  for  low  spirits,  now 
indulged  in  a  sounder  sleep  than  usual,  lulled  by  the  bad 
ness  of  the  weather.  But  as  he  lay  stretched  at  length  in 
the  little  back  porch — which  was  indeed  a  small  shed — there 
worked  into  his  dreams  a  pattering  that  seemed  not  wholly 
of  rain-water.  And  Trouncer  first  raised  his  head,  and  then 
uttered  a  short  gruff  '  Ough  ! ' — after  which  he  got  up  and 
walked  to  the  shed  door  to  take  an  observation. 

There  was  not  much  to  be  seen.  Night's  curtains  were 
all  let  down,  with  a  fringe  of  mist  and  a  thick  lining  of  rain 
water.  And  in  that  steady  pour  one  would  have  said  there 
was  little  else  to  hear ;  but  Trouncer  clearly  perceived  that 
horses'  feet  were  coming  along  the  road,  and  soon  caught 


TWO   MEN   IN   THE   BAIN.  361 

the  glimmer  of  sparks  from  their  iron  shoes  ;  and  again  he 
growled  and  pointed  his  ears  and  bristled  up.  33ut  when 
the  horses  stopped  just  before  him  he  stood  absolutely  still, 
with  only  that  same  smothered  and  gruff  ejaculation.  He 
seemed  to  have  made  up  his  mind  that  a  beggar  on  horse 
back  did  not  exist  in  real  life,  and  that  thieves  would  be  more 
wary ;  therefore  when  two  dark  figures  presented  themselves 
at  the  entrance,  Trouncer  did  not  fly  at  them,  but  merely 
gave  the  closest  personal  attendance.  And  bestowing  an 
honest  sort  of  pat  upon  the  dog's  head,  one  of  the  strangers 
passed  through  the  porch  and  knocked  at  the  inner  door, — 
a  single  rap,  not  loud  but  given  with  great  distinctness. 

The  knock  aroused  Mrs.  Hopper  ;  and  immediately  her 
window  went  up  and  her  nightcap  went  into  the  rain. 

1  Who's  there  in  the  shed  ? ' 

'  Two  men  in  the  rain,'  said  a  comfortable  voice — a  lit 
tle  disturbed  withal ;  though  its  owner  was  stamping  softly 
about  the  shed  and  whistling  until  disturbed  by  the  ques 
tion. 

'  "Well,  they'll  have  to  stay  there  till  morning,'  said 
Mrs.  Hopper.  '  Night's  the  time  for  folks  to  sleep  in.' 

'  This  aint  the  place,'  said  the  voice.  c  Therefore  let's 
in.'  Then  as  if  to  some  one  else—'  "  Thou'dst  shun  a  bear, 
but  if  thy  flight  lay  toward  the  raging  sea,  thou'dst  meet 
the  bear  i'  the  mouth."  To  her  again.' 

'  Friends  for  Mr.  Clyde,'  said  another  voice  from  the 
darkness,  going  back  to  Mrs.  Hopper's  question  and  an 
swering  it  anew. 

'  Friends  for  Mr.  Clyde,'  she  repeated ;  '  well,  I  dare 
say  he  wants  'em  bad  enough.  Who  are  they  ?  ' 

'  Come,  come  ! '  said  the  first  voice,  '  open  your  doors. 
It's  damp  here,  good  woman.  "  In  such  a  night  to  shut  me 
out !  " ' 

16 


362  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

Mrs.  Hopper  closed  the  window. 

'  Jerushy  ! '  she  said,  '  start  right  up  and  clap  somethin' 
on  to  ye — here's  visitors  at  the  door ;  and  afore  I  open  it 
do  you  hide  in  the  passage,  and  if  they  get  the  upper  hand 
o'  me,  you  kin  rouse  the  house.  Hope  they  won't  rouse 
it  themselves,  knocking.' 

The  strangers  however  seemed  as  cautious  as  she  could 
desire,  and  stood  in  patient  silence  while  she  raked  open 
the  bed  of  coals  on  the  kitchen  hearth,  and  tried  to  light  a 
candle.  But  either  the  coals  were  poor,  or  the  dampness 
of  the  night  had  found  its  way  down  chimney  ;  for  though 
Mrs.  Hopper  picked  up  one  coal  after  another  with  the 
tongs,  and  presenting  her  candlewick  blew  till  she  saw  un 
known  colors  in  the  darkness  ;  nothing  came  of  it  but  a 
shower  of  sparks,  and  they  fired  nothing  but  her  patience. 

'  Of  all  nights  in  the  three  hundred  and  sixty-seven  ! ' 
she  said  throwing  down  the  tongs,  as  a  second  knock  made 
itself  heard,  but  softly  as  before.  '  Fetch  the  gun,  Jerushy.' 

'  Mother,'  said  a  half-stifled  voice  from  the  passage,  '•  are 
you  there  ? ' 

'  Where  on  the  face  of  the  airth  should  I  be  ?  '  said  Mrs. 
Hopper.  '  Fetch  the  gun  ! ' 

'  Aint  you  scared,  mother  ?  ' 

'  I  do  believe  you'd  shy  at  your  shadder,  if  there  was 
light  enough !  '  was  the  reply.  And  marching  past  her 
daughter  with  as  swift  and  steady  a  step  as  though  it  were 
noonday,  Mrs.  Hopper  soon  returned  with  the  gun,  and 
kneeling  down  in  the  faint  glimmer  which  the  dying  embers 
sent  forth,  she  as  soon  had  out  the  flint  and  therewith  struck 
a  light.  That  done  she  opened  the  door. 

The  strangers  entered  with  no  leave  asked,  without  even 
throwing  off  their  dripping  cloaks  ;  though  indeed  it  had  been 
difficult  to  bestow  them  in  the  outside  darkness.  Mrs.  Hop- 


WHEN   THE   MIND'S   FREE.  363 

per  the  while  scanned  them  earnestly  with  her  light,  and 
was  not  long  in  finding  out  that  she  had  seen  one  of  them 
before  ;  though  as  she  afterwards  told  Jerusha,  *  she  couldn't 
tell  when  nor  where,  if  her  life  was  to  pay.' 

He  repeated  the  inquiry  for  Mr.  Clyde. 

'  Of  course  he's  home,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper  ;  t  most  folks  is, 
this  time  o'  night  and  weather.  Who  shall  I  say  wants 
him?' 

1  Don't  say  any  thing  to  anybody  till  we  have  a  fire,'  said 
the  other  stranger.  '  "  It's  a  cold  world  in  every  office  but 
thine,  good  Curtis,  therefore  fire.'" 

Mrs.  Hopper  gave  him  a  look  which  certainly  implied 
that  her  name  was  not  Curtis,  but  she  set  down  the  candle, 
and  applied  such  stimulants  and  remedies  to  the  fire  that  in 
a  few  minutes  it  blazed  to  the  chimney-top. 

'  Ah  !  that's  worth  while,'  said  the  last  speaker,  drawing 
near  the  fire  and  spreading  himself  out  before  it,  to  dry  as  it 
were.  '  Friend  Henry — "  when  the  mind's  free  the  body's 
delicate, — "  "  the  tempest  in  thy  mind  doth  surely  from  thy 
senses  take  all  feeling  else,  save  what  beats  there  !  "  Art 
thou  insensible  to  fire  as  well  as  to  water? — a  salamander  as 
well  as  a  merman  ?  ' 

His  companion  came  forward  at  this  remark,  but  as  if  the 
fire  were  matter  of  very  second-rate  importance ;  and  the 
flickering  light  which  played  upon  his  face  awoke  no  gleam 
of  recognition  and  enjoyment. 

'  You  want  Mr.  Clyde  woke  up  then  ?  '  said  Mrs.  Hopper. 

'  Not  on  guard — '  soliloquised  the  older  man.  '  No,  don't 
wake  him  if  he's  asleep — which  I  know  he  isn't.  Give  us 
two  shakedowns  here  on  the  floor,  and  no  more  about  it  till 
morning.' 

'  Likeliest  shakedowns  you'll  get  in  this  house'll  be  your 
two  selves,'  said  Mrs.  Hopper.  '  There's  the  floor,  but  where 


364  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

the  beds  are  I  don't  know.  'Tain't  particularly  hard,  for  a 
floor,  I  have  heard  them  say  as  have  tried  it.' 

1  Hum— don't  think  I'll  qualify  myself  for  an  indorse 
ment,'  said  her  questioner.  '  And  so  Mr.  Clyde  is  asleep. 
And  how's  his  sister  ?  ' 

1  Little  to  boast  of,  'except  her  good  looks,'  said  Mrs. 
Hopper.  '  They  stick  by  her  yet.' 

*  Is  she  no  better  ? '   said  the  other  stranger,  turning 
round. 

'  Can't  be  much  better'n  she  is,  to  my  thinking,'  said 
Mrs.  Hopper.  '  The  fever's  strong  yet,  and  she  isn't— if 
that's  what  you  mean.  Come  to,  I  believe  they  did  have 
some  hopes  of  her  to-day,  though.' 

*  Wake  Mr.  Clyde  at  once,  will  you  my  good  lady  ? '  said 
the  older  man  in  a  different  tone ;  drawing  forth  his  snuff 
box  the  while,  and  taking  an  immense  pinch,  as  he  roused 
himself  up  into  an  attitude  of  more  business  and  less  enjoy 
ment.     'And  harkye,  don't  let  the  grass  grow  under  your 
feet ;  it's  too  late  in  the  season  for  that.' 

And  for  a  moment  the  two  stood  alone  in  the  light  blaze 
of  the  fire.  But  Thornton  was  not  asleep,  and  came  down 
instantly.  The  greeting  was  silently  earnest.  The  doctor 
then  had  recourse  to  his  snuffbox,  but  the  two  younger  men 
stood  with  hands  yet  clasped. 

1 1  must  see  her  at  once,'  said  the  doctor,  laying  his  hand 
upon  Thornton's  shoulder.  '  Come,  leave  him  to  take  care 
of  himself — always  does.' 

And  as  with  quiet  steps  they  left  the  room,  Mrs.  Hop 
per  returned,  and  advanced  to  mend  the  fire  and  improve 
its  light  as  a  medium  of  observation.  But  for  such  an  object 
the  medium  mattered  little.  Mr.  Raynor  was  impenetrable. 
Standing  there  with  one  shoulder  braced  against  the  tall 
wooden  mantelpiece,  he  had  watched  the  two  gentlemen  as 


HAPPY — NOT   QUITE   WELL.  365 

they  quitted  the  room ;  and  when  the  door  alone  met  his 
gaze  in  that  direction  he  still  looked,  as  if  his  thought  had 
gone  further  and  the  eye  but  tarried  where  it  must.  There 
was  nothing  to  be  read  in  that  look  however,  or  if  there 
were,  it  was  writ  in  a  language  unknown  to  Mrs.  Hopper ; 
and  he  answered  all  her  questions,  and  refused  all  offers  of 
supper,  with  such  clearness  and  self-possession,  that  she 
could  not  suppose  him  to  be  '  taking  an  abstraction '  of  any 
thing.  She  left  him  to  his  thoughts  at  length,  and  with 
them  he  held  deep  discourse ;  with  but  the  rain  and  the 
rising  wind  for  a  refrain. 

Meanwhile  Thornton  had  prepared  Rosalie  for  the  sight 
of  her  kind  physician  and  friend ;  and  the  doctor  walked  in 
and  took  his  seat  at  her  bedside,  forbidding  her  to  speak  by 
a  peremptory  motion  of  his  finger. 

'  Now  why  couldn't  you  get  sick  in  town,  like  a  Chris 
tian  ? '  said  Doctor  Buffem,  as  he  took  Rosalie's  hand  in  his, 
and  examined  her  countenance  with  his  practised  eyes. 
1  Sending  for  me  into  the  backwoods  at  this  time  of  year  ! 
it's  unendurable.  Yes,  it  was  very  good  of  me  to  come,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing ;  of  course  it  was.  And  you  didn't  send 
for  me ;  certainly  not.  I'll  tell  you  what,  my  young  lady, 
there  aren't  many  people  could  play  the  magnet  with  me  this 
fashion.  This  was  such  a  desired  and  pet  job  of  mine,  and 
one  of  my  assistants  was  so  very  pressing — pet  of  his  too. 
Couldn't  well  refuse  to  come  when  he  offered  to  show  me  the 
way.  Hum — eyes  haven't  lost  much  of  their  brightness. 
Just  put  that  light  a  little  more  out  of  sight,  Mr.  Clyde. 
Now  how  do  you  feel  yourself,  Miss  Rosalie? — well  and 
happy  ? ' 

'  Happy,  sir — not  quite  well.' 

'  Cart  before  the  horse,'  said  the  doctor, — '  no  right  to  feel 
happy.' 


366  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  Not  much  right,'  said  Rosalie,  with  a  little  smile.  '  That 
is  true.' 

(  Just  as  bad  as  ever,  I  see,'  said  Doctor  Buffem.  '  Won't 
own  it,  neither.' 

He  made  some  further  inquiries,  left  with  Miss  Arnet 
both  directions  and  medicine,  and  taking  Thornton's  arm 
walked  across  the  hall  into  his  room.  There  the  doctor  sat 
down  and  took  snuff  as  usual.  Thornton  waited  in  silence. 

'  The  most  thing  I'm  anxious  about  is  myself,'  was  the 
doctor's  first  remark.  *  I  don't  know  how  you  are  off  for 
sleep,  Mr.  Clyde,  but  I've  had  none  these  three  nights. 
Never  saw  such  a  power-press  as  that  man  is,  in  my  life ! 
Can't  form  half  an  opinion  upon  unsatisfied  organs  of  sleep  ; 
therefore  if  you  will  permit  me  at  once  to  retire  to  this  bed, 
I  will  with  pleasure  resign  to  you  my  half  of  the  kitchen 
fire.' 

'  You  think  Rosalie  is  better  1 '  said  Thornton. 

.'  Don't  know  how  she  was,'  said  the  doctor.  '  How  can  I 
tell  whether  she's  better  ?  Keep  yourself  quiet,  and  don't 
fret  her,  above  all  things.  And  just  tell  Mr.  Raynor  that 
he  needn't  come  waking  me  up  every  half  hour  to  go  and  see 
how  she  is, — I'll  wake  up  myself  and  no  thanks  to  him.' 

And  silently  Thornton  went  down  stairs.  He  met  Mr. 
Raynor's  look,  and  repeated  the  doctor's  precise  words  by 
way  of  answer.  And  then  laying  one  arm  on  his  friend's 
shoulder,  he  rested  his  head  there,  with  the  look  and  action 
of  a  weary  mind  and  body  laying  off  their  own  fatigue  upon 
some  one  else.  Neither  spoke,  until  a  half  hour  had  passed  j 
and  then  Mr.  Raynor  insisted  that  Thornton  should"  have  in 
the  couch  from  the  next  room,  and  upon  that  take  some  more 
substantial  repose.  But  he  himself  went  back  to  his  old 
stand  at  the  fireplace. 


NEITHER   LIGHT   NOR  YET   DARKNESS.  367 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

PIIE.  Thou  hast  my  love ;  Is  not  that  neighbourly? 
So,.  I  would  have  you.— As  You  LIKE  IT. 

BEFORE  morning,  or  rather  before  morning  light,  the  weather 
changed.  In  place  of  the  falling  rain  there  was  now  only  a 
gentle  drip  from,  the  eaves,  and  the  wind  had  risen,  and  blew 
in  soft  and  freshening  gusts  around  the  house.  Cocks  were 
trying  their  voices,  and  a  dim  perception  that  was  neither 
light  nor  yet  darkness,  stole  in  through  the  kitchen  windows. 
Within  doors  there  was  no  change,  no  stir.  Thornton  slept 
heavily  upon  his  hard  couch,  and  not  the  footfall  of  a  mouse 
broke  the  silence  overhead. 

Mr.  Raynor  felt  weary  with  the  close,  still  air  of  the 
house — nothing  doing,  nothing  to  be  done ;  but  he  did  not 
move,  unwilling  to  lose  the  first  word  of  tidings  that  might 
come.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  till  it  came  he  must  stand 
where  he  was.  And  yet  in  one  moment  after  this  feeling 
had  crossed  his  mind  he  walked  to  the  door,  softly  drew  back 
the  great  bolt  and  passed  out.  And  Trouncer  roused  up  to 
follow  him. 

It  was  beautiful  out  of  doors,  even  in  that  darkling  light. 
The  wind  waved  the  leafless  branches  in  a  shadowy,  fitful 
fashion,  and  blew  away  the  clouds  as  fast  as  the  northwest 
could  gather  them  up.  Overhead  they  came  flying,  a  perfect 


368  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

rabble  of  clouds  ;  and  in  every  clear  space  between  them,  the 
stars  shewed  their  bright  eyes  and  winked  at  the  fact  that  it 
was  near  sunrise.  Wet,  wet,  everything  was  :  the  very  air 
seemed  washed  and  sweetened ;  and  the  advancing  light 
glimmered  in  long  strips  of  water  in  the  road,  with  now  and 
then  a  broad  pool. 

1  Ough  ! '  said  Trouncer — but  it  was  only  at  the  impatient 
kick  of  a  horse  in  the  distant  stable ;  and  by  turns  the  cock 
crows  were  contrasted  with  a  cheery,  helpless  little  twitter, 
low  and  sweet,  from  some  sleepy  bird.  Fearless  if  it  was 
helpless — joyous  too,  and  trustful.  '  They  neither  ho.ve  store 
house  nor  darn,  yet  your  heavenly  Father  feedcth  them.1 

Mr.  Raynor  stood  listening,  taking  the  full  effect  of  every 
sight  and  sound,  yet  knew  not  clearly  that  effect  until  the 
Bible  words  began  to  come  into  his  mind — those  words 
which  dumb  Nature  could  but  point  out. 

"  As  the  mountains  are  round  about  Jerusalem  " — so 
came  the  first — "  As  the  mountains  are  round  about  Jerusa 
lem^  so  the  Lord  is  round  about  his  people,  from  henceforth 
even  for  ever." 

Was  not  that  enough?  Could  not  all  be  left  to  that 
most  excellent  loving-kindness  and  tender  mercy  which  could 
not  err  ?  "  Behold,  he  that  keepeth  Israel  shall  neither  slum,' 
ber  nor  sleep !  " 

O  human  blindness,  and  weakness,  and  want  of  trust ! 
Mr.  Raynor  thought,  as  still  he  stood  looking,  and  heard 
( the  feathered  people '  begin  their  morning  song,  and  remem 
bered  :  "  Are  not  two  sparroivs  sold  for  a  farthing  ?  and  one 
of  them  fhall  not  fall  on  the  ground  without  your  Father.'1'' 
"  Fear  not  therefore  " — that  was  what  everything  said. 
"  Shall  not  the  Judge  of  the  whole  earth  do  right  ?  " 

So  constantly  had  he  watched  the  progress  of  things,  so 
gradually  had  it  come  on,  that  it  was  with  almost  a  start 


THE   FIRST    GLEAM   OF    SUNLIGHT.  369 

that  he  perceived  the  first  gleam  of  sunlight  which  had 
darted  into  the  world,  and  lit  on  the  vane  of  the  little  village 
church  in  the  distance.  Mr.  Raynor  turned  at  once  and 
went  back  into  the  house.  No  change  there  yet ;  but  hardly 
had  he  resumed  his  stand  at  the  fireplace,  before  the  stifled 
creaking  of  shoes  was  heard  and  the  hall  door  opened. 

If  any  traces  of  sleepiness  remained  about  the  eyes  of 
Martha  Jumps  as  she  entered  the  kitchen,  they  all  vanished 
when  she  saw  Mr.  Raynor  there  and  Thornton  asleep  on  the 
settee.  But  Thornton  awoke  instantly,  and  starting  up, 
exclaimed, 

{  How  is  your  mistress,  Martha  ?  ' 

'  She's  better,  praise  be  Blessed,'  said  Martha,  as  she 
walked  up  to  the  mantelpiece  and  set  down  her  candlestick. 

'  Who  says  so  ?  '  said  Thornton. 

'  I  ought  to  know,  if  anybody  did,  for  I've  just  come  from 
seeing  her  sleeping  like  any  kitten,'  replied  Martha.  '  Miss 
Arnet  says  so,  too.  There's  nothin'  whatever  to  hinder  our 
having  breakfast  at  the  usual  time.' 

Thornton  went  up  to  see  for  himself,  and  was  too  well 
satisfied  with  seeing  to  come  down  again  until  breakfast  was 
ready.  Then  he  and  Doctor  Buffem  appeared  together. 

*  All  right  and  sweet  'and  comfortable,'  said  the  doctor. 
1 1  may  go  back  to  New  York  as  fast  as  I  came ;  or  now  I 
think,  of  it,  more  leisurely — being  at  my  own  risk.     You  do 
not  go  with  me,  friend  Henry  ? ' 

1  No,  sir.' 

*  I  think  you  will  be  equal  to  any  emergency  which  may 
arise,'  said  the  doctor.     '  And  now,  my  dear  sir,  breakfast ! 
It's  ill  travelling  without  the  staff  of  life.' 

'  And  if  Rosalie  goes  on  steadily  improving,  when  would 
it  be  safe  for  her  to  return  to  New  York  ? '  said  Thornton, 
as  they  took  their  seats  at  the  table. 


370 

'  New  York  ?  fal  de  rol ! '  said  the  doctor.  *  Don't  bring 
her  back  to  brick  walls  till  she's  able  to  climb  'em.  She's 
seen  enough  of  New  York  for  one  while.  The  minute  she 
can  stand  alone  take  her  off  for  change  of  air  and  scene — 
jaunt  about  a  little — go  South,  if  you  like ;  but  don't  let  her 
see  New  York  these  three  months.' 

The  doctor  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away,  and  the 
other  two  gentlemen  stood  somewhat  thoughtfully  looking 
after  him.  Mr.  Raynor  spoke  first. 

'  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Thornton  ?  ' 

'  Doctor  Buffem's  orders.' 

1 1  will  see  them  carried  out,'  was  the  next  grave  remark. 

'  You  shall,  if  I  have  any  voice  in  the  matter.' 

'  Say  nothing  about  it  now.J  And  nothing  was  said,  even 
before  Mr.  Raynor  went  back  to  New  York  himself  for  a  week. 

But  one  afternoon  at  the  end  of  that  week,  when  Rosalie 
was  well  enough  to  sit  up  in  a  great  chair  by  her  wood  fire, 
and  all  the  rest  had  gone  out  for  a  walk  ;  that  peculiarly 
quiet  step  might  have  been  heard  on  the  stairs — if  indeed  it 
had  made  noise  enough. 

Quietly  he  went  up,  and  quick,  for  that  was  his  custom ; 
but  his  foot  slackened  its  pace  now  on  the  upper  stairs,  and 
as  it  reached  the  landing-place  stood  still,  and  his  breath 
almost  bore  it  company.  Martha  had  gone  down  a  few  min 
utes  before,  leaving  Rosalie's  door  half  open ;  and  thinking 
all  human  ears  far  away — with  the  perfect  stillness  of  the 
house — she  was  singing  to  herself  in  the  fading  sunlight. 
Singing  softly,  and  in  a  voice  not  yet  strong,  but  with  such 
clear  distinctness  that  the  listener  caught  every  word. 

He  waited  till  the  hymn  was  finished — waited  for  an 
other,  but  it  came  not ;  and  still  he  lingered,  as  if  there  were 
a  halo  about  her  he  liked  not  to  break.  Then  a  quiet  knock 
at  the  open  door,  a  quiet  word  of  admission,  and  whatever 
1C* 


QUESTION.  371 

effect  he  charged  upon  his  presence  the  room  looked  no  less 
bright  to  her. 

'  Does  thy  song  betoken  strength  ?  '  he  said. 

1  Only  weakness — of  that  kind  which  craves  a  strong  sup 
port — and  rests  in  it,  and  delights  in  it.' 

1  Wilt  thou  make  use  of  my  strength,  such  as  it  is  ?  '  said 
he  smiling.  '  I  would  fain  bestow  it  upon  thee.' 

*  Having  more  than  you  want  ?  ' 

1 A  little  surplus,  which  I  should  like  to  see  invested.' 

c  I  should  think  business  might  call  for  it  all,'  said  Ro 
salie.  '  How  are  affairs  on  Long  Island  ?  ' 

1  In  the  old  state  of  quiescence.  I  have  left  Penn  in 
charge  of  my  department.' 

1  For  the  present,  I  suppose.' 

*  For  the  present  and  future,  both.     I  am  going  South.' 
1  South  ! '  said  Rosalie.     <  You  ?  ' 

'  Yes,'  said  he,  smiling.     t  Not  without  you.' 

She  looked  quickly  up  at  him,  then  down  again,  but  she 
heard  the  same  smile  in  his  next  words. 

'  Will  that  direction  suit  you  ?  ' 

'  Are  you  so  intent  upon  journeying,  Mr.  Raynor,  that 
you  can  talk  of  nothing  else  ?  ' 

'  Question  ! '  he  said  with  the  same  tone. 

(  The  first  letter  of  a  new  alphabet  is  not  to  be  lightly 
spoken.' 

'  That  was  the  second  letter ;  this  is  the  first — When  do 
you  expect  to  come  down  stairs  ?  ' 

'  I  shall  have  to  consider  of  that,'  she  answered. 

c  Let  not  the  consideration  be  too  long,  or  I  may  take 
you  away  before  it  comes  to  an  end.' 

'  I  think  you  are  merry  to-night,  Mr.  Raynor.' 

'  With  reason.' 

'  But  if  you  take  up  my  words  so,'  Rosalie  said, ' 1  shall 
not  be  able  to  say  what  I  wish.' 


372  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  I  do  not  wish  you  to  say  anything,'  said  he  laughing 
{ I  merely  came  to  say  something  to  you.  For  the  rest  of 
the  evening  you  may  think  and  not  speak.  It  is  always  well 
to  know  beforehand  what  one  has  to  do ;  and  this  dear 
Rosalie  is  not  to  be  reasoned  against  nor  reasoned  away, — 
therefore  think  not  so  much  as  may  trouble  thee.  Good 
night.' 

Tom  Skiddy  stood  out  in  the  chip  yard  next  morning,  and 
Miss  Jumps  in  her  old  position  with  her  hands  behind  her, 
stood  leaning  against  a  tree  and  watching  him.  The  frost 
lay  upon  every  chip  and  blade  of  grass  to  which  the  sun 
had  not  yet  paid  his  morning  visit ;  and  lurked  in  corners 
and  by  fences,  secure  for  some  time  from  his  approach.  The 
trees  were  in  the  poverty-stricken  livery  of  November — 
some  thinly  clad,  the  most  not  clad  at  all;  and  with  every 
rustle  of  the  wind  there  fluttered  down  some  of  the  remain 
ing  leaves,  crisped  with  last  night's  frost. 

Tom  was  elaborately  dressing  out  a  knitting-needle  from 
a  strip  of  red  cedar,  while  the  companion  strip  lay  on  a  log 
hard  by. 

'  How  would  you  like  to  go  South,  Tom  Skiddy  ?  '  said 
Martha. 

'  Fur  south  as  Connecticut  I  shouldn't  object  to,'  replied 
Tom. 

'  That  aint  South,'  said  Martha, — c  Connecticut's  north 
when  you're  in  York.  I  mean  South  that  aint  north  no- 
wheres.' 

'  Guess  likely  I  shouldn't  care  about  it,'  said  Tom. 

I  Well  what'll  you  do  supposen  the  Capting  goes  ? ' 
'  He  won't,'  said  Tom. 

'  Now  how  do  you  know,  Tom  Skiddy  ?  '  said  Martha.  - 

I 1  tell  you  he  won't,'  repeated  Tom. 

'  And  I  heard  the  doctor  say,  "  Take  her  South," 


A   FINE   MATCH.  373 

my  own  ears,'  said  Martha.  '  You  don't  s'pose  the  Capt- 
ing'd  make  any  bones  about  it  after  that  ? ' 

1  Can't  he  send  no  one  else  ? '  said  Tom. 

'  He  might,  I  do  suppose,'  said  Martha, — { that's  smart 
o'  you,  Tom  Skiddy.  0'  course  every  body  knows  what  he's 
stayin'  here  for.  But  then  if  Miss  Rosalie's  goin'  in  for 
the  Quakers,  I  aint  agoin'  with  her — that's  one  thing. 
Couldn't — not  for  nuts.' 

'  You  can  find  somethin'  else  to  do,  I  s'pose  ?'  said  Tom, 
taking  up  the  square  stick  of  cedar. 

'  Most  like  I  can — '  said  Martha, — c  spry  folks  like  me 
don't  want  for  work  generally.' 

'  I»should  think  you  might,'  remarked  Tom,  measuring 
the  two  pieces.  '  Nice  fit,  aint  it  ? ' 

1  Sort  o' — '  said  Martha, — '  one  of  'em's  rough  enough 
for  two,  and  big  enough.' 

c  That's  all  along  o'  what's  been  done  to  t'other,'  said 
Tom,  beginning  to  work  at  the  square  stick. 

'  Some  odds  in  the  stuff,  aint  there  ? '  said  Martha. 

(  Not  much,'  said  Tom.  '  Both  out  o'  one  stick.  One 
was  further  out  and  t'other  further  in — that's  all.'  And 
Tom  whittled  away  assiduously,  while  Martha  looked  on  in 
silence. 

'  Goin'  to  make  'em  both  alike  ? '  she  inquired. 

1  Just  alike,' said  Tom, — '  being  knittin'-needles.  They're 
different  shades  o'  red  though.  I  don't  care  about  seem' 
two  things  too  much  alike,  if  they  have  got  to  go  together.' 

(  Such  as  what  ?  '  said  Martha. 

*  Horses,' — said  Tom, — '  and  folks.  You  and  I  always 
worked  better,  Martha,  for  having  such  a  variety  between  us.' 

'  Well,  I  do'  know  but  we  did,'  said  Martha  musingly. 

1  Just  about  what  you  call  a  fine  match,  we  are,  I  think.1 
said  Tom. 


374  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

'  Are  ! '  repeated  Martha,  with  a  little  toss  of  her  head. 

*  Well,  might  be,  then,'  said  Tom. 

1 1  don't  know  about  that,'  said  Martha.  '  It  mought, 
and  it  mought  not,  as  folks  used  to  say  where  I  was  raised.' 

'  So  they  did  in  my  town,'  said  Tom,  '  .but  then  they 
always  fetched  up  with  "  and  then  again  it  mought."  I 
shouldn't  mind  making  the  experiment,  for  one.' 

'  I  wouldn't  be  venturesome,  Tom  Skiddy,'  said  Martha, 
with  her  head  a  little  on  one  side  and  leaning  against  the 
tree. 

*  I'll  risk  it,'  said  Tom. 

'  Well  now  ! '  said  Martha. 

'  What's  come  over  you  to  be  so  skeery  ? '  said  Tom. 
*  You're  as  bad  as  our  white  colt,  that  used  to  always 
shy  afore  he  went  through  the  bar-place.' 

'  I  might  be  worse'n  that,'  said  Martha.  c  I  might  shy 
and  not  go  through  the  bar -place  after  all,  Tom  Skiddy.' 

'  That  aint  the  fashion  o'  colts,'  said  Tom.  '  They 
wouldn't  get  paid  for  their  trouble.' 

'  Well  suppos'n  I  shouldn't  get  paid  for  goin'  through  ? ' 
said  Martha. 

'  You  would,'  said  Tom,  shaving  off  thin  slices  of  the 
red  cedar. 

4  Sure  ?  '  said  Martha. 

c  Sartain,'  said  Tom. 

'  Time  I  was  in  the  house,  I  know,'  said  Martha ;  and 
in  a  very  deliberate  way  Miss  Jumps  picked  up  her  sun- 
bonnet  and  walked  off  towards  the  back  door. 

'  Goin'  through  the  bar-place  ?  '   said  Tom. 

'  Maybe' — returned  Martha.  '  You're  so  good  at  making 
up  things — s'pose'n  you  try  your  hand  at  some  more.' 


THE    WAY    OF    THE    WOULD.  375 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

Shall  I  never  see  a  bachelor  of  threescore  again  ?— Much  Ado  About  Nothing. 

IF  anything  could  have  made  Mrs.  Arnet  deeply  unhappy, 
a  letter  which  she  received  from  her  daughter  early  in 
November  would  have  done  it.  Fortunately  nature  had 
placed  her  beyond  much  risk  of  that  sort,  but  discomposure 
she  did  feel  in  abundance. 

'  You  must  come  here  if  you  wish  to  see  the  grand  cere 
mony  of  my  life,  mamma,'  Marion  wrote  ;  '  for  here  it  will 
take  place.  Thornton  wishes  it,  and  so  does  Rosalie ;  and  I 
am  but  too  glad  to  be  spared  the  great  New  York  fuss  which 
you  would  think  indispensable  were  I  there.' 

Indispensable  ! — the  word  came  back  from  the  very  bot 
tom  of  Mrs.  Arnet's  heart ;  which  was  however  not  so  far 
off  as  it  might  have  been.  But  married  up  there  !  in  a 
country  kitchen  !  —  for  what  had  any  farmhouse .  but  a 
kitchen  ;— the  idea  was  overwhelming,  and  yet  there  was  no 
help.  There  was  time  for  her  to  reach  them,  but  not  to 
make  them  change  their  plans ;  and  on  the  whole  Mrs.  Arnet 
concluded  she  had  better  stay  at  home.  The  mere  cere 
mony  was  not  much,  and  if  she  went  away  there  would  bo 
no  prepared  fuss  against  their  return ;  whereas  by  a  dili- 


376  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

gent  use  of  the  time  between  now  and  then,  she  could  do 
much  to  repair  the  mischief.  Therefore  she  would  not  go. 

Neither  could  Mrs.  Raynor  be  present.  So  she  wrote  ; 
the  journey  at  that  time  of  year  and  of  her  life  seemed  too 
much. 

'  I  give  thee  up,  dear  child,'  she  said,  '  as  fully  and 
freely  as  if  there.  I  always  thought  thee  too  good  to  be 
mine  alone.  But  go  to  thee  I  cannot :  therefore  come  not 
for  me.' 

And  so  the  night  before  that  morning  in  November  there 
was  '  nobody  but  just  their  four  selves,'  as  Mrs.  Hopper 
said,  in  the  sitting-room.  Hulda  had  been  there  to  be  sure, 
in  such  a  mixture  of  pleasure  that  she  was  to  be  with  Ma 
rion  for  a  while,  and  sorrow  that  Rosalie  was  going  away, 
and  joy  to  think  of  living  always  part  of  the  time  with  her 
and  Mr.  Raynor  too ;  that  she  was  sometimes  absolutely 
still,  and  sometimes  flitted  about  like  a  very  spirit  of  unrest. 
But  now  she  had  gone  to  bed  and  all  was  quiet.  Quiet  but 
for  the  sweeping  remarks  of  the  wind ;  and  they  were  so 
general  that  nobody  thought  of  answering  them.  The  bro 
ther  and  sister  were  much  in  each  other's  thought ;  and 
could  the  thoughts  have  been  read  they  would  have  told  of 

— "  All  that  fills  the  minds  of  friends 
When  first  they  feel,  with  secret  pain, 
Their  lives  henceforth  have  separate  ends, 
And  never  can  be  one  again." 

Perhaps  the  faces  revealed  so  much;  for  of  the  other 
two  present,  one  was  unusually  grave,  and  the  other  at  least 
as  usual.  But  he  was  the  first  to  speak  :  not  in  a  particu 
larly  grave  way,  but  rather  playfully — as  if  willing  with  a 
light  hand  to  attach  and  wind  "off  the  long  threads  of  thought 


KNOWLEDGE  AND   WISDOM.  377 

in  which  his  companions  had  enwrapped  themselves.     And 
thus  he  spoke  : 

'  "  Knowledge  dwells 

In  heads  replete  with  thoughts  of  other  men ; 
Wisdom,  in  minds  attentive  to  their  own." ' 

'  Which  would  prove  us  all  sages,'  said  Miss  Arnet. 

1  Not  all — '  said  Mr.  Raynor.  '  My  attention  at  least 
was  not  turned  within.' 

'  Nor  mine,'  said  Thornton. 

'  No,'  said  his  friend ;  '  you  have  come  near  disproving 
the  other  line — 

"  And  whistled  as  he  went  for  want  of  thought."  ' 

'  Why  ? '  said  Thornton  laughing. 

'  You  have  given  the  fire  so  much,  so  meditative,  and  so 
needless  attention.' 

'  So  fruitless  also,'  said  Rosalie. 

'  Very  well,'  said  Thornton  ;  *  but  I  have  not  been  so 
lost  in  meditation  as  to  miss  the  glances  stolen  at  us  all 
from  under  cover  of  your  eyelashes,  little  Sweetbrier.' 

She  smiled,  but  the  playful  lines  quickly  composed  them 
selves  into  graver  fashion  than  before. 

c  I  am  thinking,  Alie,'  said  Thornton,  '  what  you  will  dc 
without  some  one  to  take  charge  of.' 

1  She  may  take  charge  of  me,'  said  Mr.  Raynor. 

'  You  ! '  said  Thornton. 

'  Well  ? '  was  the  quiet  reply. 

'  It  is  such  a  comical  idea  to  imagine  anybody's  presum 
ing  to  dictate  or  even  advise  any  line  of  conduct  to  you.' 

4  Presuming — yes,'  said  Mr.  Kaynor.  c  I  should  scarcely 
call  the  idea  comical.' 

1  Well  doing  it  at  all,  then.' 


378  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

1 "  He  that  hath  no  pleasure-  in  looking  up  is  not  fit  to 
look  down,"  '  said  Mr.  Raynor.  l  You  are  making  me  out 
very  unfit  for  my  trust.' 

'  I  recant  then,'  said  Thornton, l  and  am  quite  willing  that 
you  should  be  perfect  after  your  own  fashion.  I  am  cer 
tainly  afraid  she  will  lose  the  pleasure  of  fault  finding — but 
I  suppose  she  can  live  without  it.' 

Her  lips  parted  in  a  little  smile  as  if  about  to  speak,  but 
they  closed  again  silently. 

1 1  am  afraid  my  old  simile  of  the  lock  of  hair  must  stand, 
Alie,'  said  Marion.  '  But  child  you  are  tired,  and  in  my 
judgment  ought  to  go  to  bed.' 

1  My  judgment  does  not   say  that.' 

'  And  mine  says  must,'  said  Mr.  Raynor. 

She  coloured  a  little,  and  Marion  smiled,  and  Thornton 
said  laughing, 

*  You  see,  Alie — he  endorses  my  words.  I  am  afraid 
your  judgment  will  stand  but  a  poor  chance,  after  all.' 

Even  as  he  spoke,  a  little  stir  was  heard  in  the  kitchen  ; 
arid  the  opening  door  shewed  them  not  indeed  any  part  of 
the  stir,  but  the  cause  of  it, — Mrs.  Raynor — a  very  twilight 
spot  of  grey  silk  against  the  glow  of  the  kitchen  firelight. 
With  as  little  excitement  and  bustle  as  if  it  had  been  her 
own  parlour,  so  did  the  quakeress  come  in ;  and  was  met  at^ 
the  third  step  by  her  son,  his  motions  as  quiet  though  rather 
more  quick. 

'  Thee  sees  how  much  impatience  human  nature  hath  yet 
Henry,'  she  said.  '  I  could  nat  wait  to  see  thy  wife  till  she 
was  ready  to  come  to  me,  therefore  am  I  here.' 

c  And  she  will  not  be  here  until  to-morrow,'  he  said,  lead 
ing  his  mother  to  where  Rosalie  stood  supporting  herself  by 
her  arm-chair.  '  The  next  best  thing  is  visible.' 

The  heart  of  the  quakeress  had  but  imperfectly  learned 


NO    WORD.  379 

the  quaker  lesson ;  for  in  silence  she  embraced  Rosalie  and 
softly  replaced  her  in  the  great  chair,  and  in  silence  held 
out  her  hands  to  Thornton  and  Marion,  and  gave  them  most 
cordial  though  mute  greeting.  Then  her  hand  came  back 
to  Rosalie  and  rested  caressingly  upon  her  head,  and  once 
again  Mrs.  Raynor  stooped  down  and  kissed  her. 

*  Mother,'  said  Mr.  Raynor,  c  you.  forget  that  Rosalie  is 
not  a  Quakeress.' 

'  Nay  surely,'  she  said.    '  Wherefore  ?  ' 

He  answered  only  by  a  glance  at  the  transparent  hand  on 
which  Rosalie's  cheek  rested,  its  very  attitude  speaking 
some  difficulty  of  self-control ;  but  his  mother  understood, 
and  removed  her  own  hand  and  took  the  chair  he  had  placed 
for  her :  answering  then  his  questions  and  putting  forth 
some  of  her  own.  Thornton  and  Marion  meanwhile  ex 
changed  a  few  words  but  Rosalie  said  nothing. 

'  Why  does  thee  not  speak,  love  ? '  said  the  quakeress 
presently.  Mr.  Raynor  answered. 

'  We  were  talking  a  while  ago  upon  your  favourite  theme 
of  silence,  mother.  What  were  those  lines  you  used  to  quote 
in  its  defence  ?  ' 

'  It  matters  not,  child,'  she  said, — '  the  lines  were  may 
hap  written  by  one  who  seldom  held  his  peace  save  in  a  good 
cause.' 

'  Yet  they  were  good,  and  you  used  to  say  them  to  me  ? ' 

'  It  may  be  I  had  done  better  not,'  she  said  ;  *  therefore 
urge  me  not  to  say  them  again.' 

'  You  will  let  him  say  them  himself?  '  said  Rosalie. 

'  If  it  liketh  him — '  said '  the  quakeress.  '  He  thinketh 
not  with  me  on  all  points.' 

His  hand  laid  on  hers  seemed  to  say  those  points  were 
few  and  unimportant;  as  with  a  smile  he  said — 


380  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

' "  Still  born  silence!  thou  that  art 
Flood-gate  of  the  deeper  heart ! 
Offspring  of  a  heavenly  kind  1 
Frost  o'  the  mouth  and  thaw  o'  the  mind !  " ' 

1  Spring  and  winter  are  struggling  for  the  mastery  here 
to-night,'  said  Thornton.  '  I  wish  the  thaw  would  extend 
itself.' 

'  No,'  Mr.  Raynor  said,  '  not  to  Rosalie's  lips.  Do  not 
set  her  talking  to-night.  Let  her  sleep — if  to  that  she  can 
be  persuaded.' 

c ;'  He  hath  a  will — he  hath  a  power  to  perform,"  '  said 
Rosalie  with  a  little  smile  as  she  rose  from  her  seat ;  nor 
did  she  look  to  see  the  smile  that  her  words  called  forth, 
although  it  were  more  than  her  own. 

It  was  a  pretty  morning's  work  that  Mrs.  Hopper's  best 
room  saw  next  day,  and  a  pretty  company 'was  there  assem 
bled.  Only  '  their  four  selves'  again, — with  just  the  set-off 
of  the  grey  dress  and  cap  of  the  quakeress,  and  the  wonder 
and  interest  in  every  line  of  Hulda's  little  face, — with  only  the 
back-ground  of  country  walls  and  hard  country  faces, — with 
no  lights  but  the  wood  fire  and  the  autumn  sun.  And  the 
room  had  no  ornament  but  themselves,  unless  the  splendid 
red  winterberries  in  Marion's  hair.  But  it  was  rarely  pretty 
and  picturesque  ;  and  even  the  fact  that  Rosalie  must  sit 
whenever  she  need  not  stand,  rather  heightened  the  effect. 
Mrs.  Hopper  said  it  was  the  prettiest  sight  she  ever  saw,  and 
Tom  Skiddy  quite  agreed  with  her,  with  only  one  reserva 
tion, — '  he  wouldn't  say  that  he  couldn't  see  a  prettier.' 


COMING  INTO   PORT.  381 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

Behold  I  see  the  haven  nigh  at  hand, 

To  which  I  mean  my  wearie  course  to  bend ; 

Vere  the  maine  shete,  and  beare  up  with  the  land, 

The  which  afore  is  fayrly  to  be  kend, 

And  seemeth  safe  from  storms  that  may  offend : 

Where  this  fayre  Virgin  wearie  of  her  way 

Must  landed  bee,  now  at  her  iourneye's  end : 

There  eke  my  feeble  barke  a  while  may  stay, 

Till  merry  wynd  and  weather  call  her  hence  away.— Faerie  Queen. 

IT  is  a  melancholy  fact  that  the  end  of  a  voyage  cannot 
be  as  picturesque  as  the  beginning  thereof, — whether  it  be  a 
voyage  in  earnest,  or  merely  the  '  wearie  course '  above  re 
ferred  to.  There  is  no  momentary  expectation  of  either 
storms  or  sea-sickness,  and  both  are  an  old  story.  The 
waves  do  not  gradually  run  higher  and  higher,  but l  con 
trary  wise,' — there  is  very  little  sea  on — if  one  may  borrow 
a  steam  phrase,  and  the  water  becomes  ingloriously  tran 
quil.  Unless  indeed  the  fictional  craft  is  to  blow  up  with  a 
grand  explosion — and  that  in  Sam  Weller's  words,  '  is  too 
excitin'  to  be  pleasant.'  In  fact  the  voyage  is  over  before 
the  last  chapter  ;  and  the  only  thing  that  can  do,  is  to  pilot 
sundry  important  people  over  the  bar  and  through  the 
straits,  and  land  them  all  too  safe,  on  the  shores  of  this 
working-day  world. 

Not  that,  as  somebody  says,  '  people  begin  to  be  stupid 


382  MY   BROTHERS   KEEPER. 

the  moment  they  cease  to  be  miserable  ' ; — but  still,  when 
the  course  of  true  love,  or  of  any  other  small  stream,  doth 
run  smooth, — its  little  falls,  and  whirls,  and  foam,  and  vol 
untary  beating  against  the  rocks — its  murmurs  as  a  hard- 
used  and  thwarted  individual — must  of  course  be  dispensed 
with.  There  is  nothing  for  it,  on  either  hand,  but  smooth 
water. 

Mrs.  Eaynor  sat  alone  in  her  library.  Absolutely  alone  ; 
for  though  the  cat  was  enjoying  himself  on  the  rug,  Mr. 
Penn  was  enjoying  himself  elsewhere ;  or  it  might  be  was 
attending  to  his  duties  on  Long  Island.  Even  the  invaria 
ble  knitting  work  was  laid  aside,  and  yet  Mrs.  Kay  nor 
busied  herself  with  nothing  else, — unless  her  own  thoughts, 
or  the  general  appearance  of  the  room — for  so  might  be 
construed  the  looks  that  from  time  to  time  went  forth  on  an 
exploring  expedition.  With  never  failing  recollection  she 
replenished  the  fire,  even  before  such  attention  was  needed ; 
and  once  or  twice  even  left  her  seat,  and  with  arranging 
hands  visited  the  curtains  and  the  books  upon  the  table. 
Then  returning,  she  took  a  letter  from  her  pocket  and  read 
the  beloved  words  once  more.  It  was  all  needless.  The 
words — she  knew  them  by  heart  already,  and  the  room  was 
ordered  after  the  most  scrupulous  quaker  exactness. 

The  ..sharp  edge  of  this  was  taken  off  by  exquisite 
flowers,  an  eccentric  little  wood-fire,  and  a  bountifully 
spread  tea  table ;  'Where  present  dainties  set  off  each  other, 
and  cinnamon  and  sugar  looked  suspicious  of  waffles.  The 
silver  glimmered  with  mimic  fires,  the  plates  and  cups  shone 
darkly  in  their  deep  paint  and  gilding  ;  and  tall  sperm  can 
dles  were  borne  aloft,  but  as  yet  unlighted.  Even  the  sad- 
colored  curtains  hung  in  softened  folds  in  the  soft  fireshine, 
their  twilight  tints  in  pretty  contrast  with  the  warm  glow 
upon  the  ceiling.  As  for  the  flowers,  they  hung  their  heads, 


WAITING   TEA.  383 

and  looked  up,  and  laid  their  soft  cheeks  together,  after  a 
most  coquettish  fashion — as  if  they  were  whispering  ;  and 
the  breath  of  their  whispers  filled  the  room.  A  fair,  half- 
revealing  light  found  its  way  through  the  bookcase  doors, 
and  rested  upon  the  old  books  in  their  covers  of  a  substan 
tial  antiquity,  and  touched  up  the  lighter  adornments  of 
such  novelties  as  the  quakeress  or  her  son  approved.  The 
clock  in  its  dark  frame  of  carved  wood  went  tick,  tick,  with 
the  most  absolute  regularity,  and  told  whoever  was  curious 
on  that  point  that  it  was  six  o^lock. 

Then  Rachel  appeared. 

*  Will  thee  have  the  candles  lighted  ?  ' 

1  I  thank  thee,  Rachel,  not  yet.'   - 

1  Does  thee  intend  to  wait  tea  even  till  they  come  ? ' 

'  Surely,'  said  Mrs.  Raynor.  '  But  ye  had  better  take 
tea  down  stairs,  if  so  be  ye  are  in  haste.' 

'  Nay,'  replied  Rachel.  '  Nevertheless,  it  may  well 
chance  that  thy  waffles  shall  be  for  breakfast.'  And  Rachel 
closed  the  door  noiselessly  and  retired. 

But  while  Mrs.  Raynor  turned  her  head  the  door  was 
opened  again  as  noiselessly  ;  and  when  she  once  more  looked 
round  from  a  contemplation  of  the  clock  face,  the  very  per 
sons  whom  she  had  expected  stood  in  the  doorway.  Rosalie 
in  her  flush  of  restored  health  and  one  or  two  other  things, 
her  furred  and  deep-coloured  travelling  dress,  looking  as 
little  as  possible  like  a  quakeress  j  and  Mr.  Raynor,  though 
bearing  out  his  mother's  words  that  he  would  have  made  a 
beautiful  Friend,  yet  with  an  air  and  manner  that  said  if  he 
were  one  now  it  was  after  a  different  pattern. 

'  I  wellnigh  thought  the  south  meant  to  keep  thee  ! ' 
the  quakeress  said  as  she  embraced  him. 

1  Nay  mother,'  he  answered  smiling,  c  it  was  somewhat 
from  the  north  that  kept  me.  And  you  see  how  my  rose  has 
bloomed  the  while.' 


384 

1  Fairer  than  ever  !  and  better  loved.1 

'  Than  I  deserve  to  be '  Rosalie  said. 

(  Thee  need  not  speak  truth  after  thine  own  fashion 
here,'  said  the  quakeress  with  a  smile,  and  laying  first  her 
hand  and  then  her  lips  upon  the  fair  brow  that  was  a  little 
bent  down  before  her.  '  Does  not  thee  know  that  the  right 
of  possession  is  enhancing  ? ' 

And  Rosalie  had  nothing  to  do  but  sit  where  they 
placed  her,  and  let  her  hands  be  ungloved  and  taken  care 
of;  while  questions  and  words  of  joy  and  welcome  could 
not  cease  their  flow,  nor  eyes  be  satisfied  with  seeing. 

Then  came  tea  ;  but  Rosalie  drew  back  from  being  put 
at  the  head  of  the  table. 

'  That  is  Mrs.  Raynor's  place,'  she  said. 

<  So  I  think.' 

*  What  does  thee  call  thyself  ? '  said  the  quakeress  with 
a  quiet  smile.  l  That  is  thy  name  now,  dear  child,  and  that 
is  thy  place.' 

And  Rosalie  was  seated  there  without  more  ado  ;  where 
even  Rachel  surveyed  her  with  unwonted  admiration  of 
colours  and  uncovered  hair. 

'  Mother,'  said  Mr.  Raynor,  as  it  drew  on  towards  eight 
o'clock,  *  you  must  let  me  take  Rosalie  away  for  an  hour.  I 
know  she  will  not  rest  till  she  has  seen  Thornton  and  Hulda.' 

'  This  night  ?  '  said  the  quakeress.  '  Thee  will  weary 
her." 

'  That  is  just  what  I  am  trying  to  prevent.' 

'  Thee  must  judge  for  thyself,  Henry, — nathless  thee 
knows  that  we  Friends  think  much  of  patience.' 

1  She  is  patient  enough,'  said  Mr.  Raynor  laughing,  and 
laying  both  hands  on  his  wife's  head  as  he  stood  by  her 
chair.  '  So  patient  that  she  requires  very  particular  looking 
after.'  And  when  the  carriage  came  he  took  her  away  as 
he  had  said. 


THE   PEACE.  385 

What  a  happy  surprise  there  was  !  what  a  joyful  hour  of 
talk  !  How  pleasant  it  was  to  see  the  old  house  again,  re 
stored  from  its  fiery  damage  and  with  such  owners.  So 
much  joy,  that  one  is  tempted  to  wonder  why  nobody  ever 
wrote  upon  the  Pleasures  of  fulfilment.  And  if  her  old  sor 
rowful  life  came  up  to  Rosalie,  it  was  but  to  stir  the  very 
depths  of  her  heart  with  wonder  and  gratitude  ;  till  she  was 
ready  to  say  with  the  Psalmist,  "  What  is  man,  that  thou 
art  mindful  of  him  ?  or  the  son  of  man,  that  thou  visitest 
him  ?  " 

An  hour  had  passed,  and  half  of  the  next  one,  and  still 
they  lingered  ;  until  a  slight  stir  arose  in  the  street,  and 
cries  and  shouts — first  distant  and  then  drawing  near — 
broke  the  stillness.  Cries  not  of  fear,  as  it  seemed,  neither 
of  disturbance,  but  of  joy — of  excitement — of  wild  con 
gratulation.  In  a  moment  the  little  party  were  at  the 
door. 

All  was  still,  breathless.  Then  again  the  murmur  came 
swelling  towards  them,  and  foremost  among  the  cries  broke 
forth  '  Peace  !  Peace  ! '  Nearer  and  nearer  the  people 
took  it  up  and  cried,  '  Peace  !  the  Peace  ! '  From  one 
and  another — from  deep  strong  voices  and  from  throats 
that  could  hardly  raise  the  cry,  it  was  heard — f  The  Peace  ! 
the  Peace  ! ' 

'  Peace  !  Peace  ! '  cried  out  one  little  boy  whose  pat 
tering  footsteps  bore  him  swiftly  past  the  Jiouse.  '  Peace  ! 
Peace  ! — I  wish  my  voice  was  bigger  ! ' 

1 1  wish  my  heart  was,'  Mr.  Raynor  said.  And  as 
they  rode  home  lights  sprang  forth  in  every  window,  the 
city  shone  as  if  with  daylight ;  and  ever  went  up  that  cry, 
*  Peace  !  Peace  ! ' 

THE     END. 

17 


Any  of  these  Books  sent  free  by  mail  to  any  address  on  receipt  of  price. 

KECEOT    PUBLICATIONS 

OF 

D.    APPLETON    &    CO., 

443  and  445  Broadway,  New 


Mercantile  Dictionary.     A  com- 

plete  vocabulary  of  the  technicalities  of  Commercial  Correspond 
ence,  names  of  Articles  of  Trade,  and  Marine  Terms,  in  Eng 
lish,  Spanish,  and  French  ;  with  Geographical  Names,  Business 
Letters,  and  Tables  of  the  Abbreviations  in  common  use  in  the 
three  languages.  By  I.  DE  VEITELLE.  Square  12mo.  Hah0 
morocco. 

"  A  book  of  most  decided  necessity  to  all  merchants,  filling  up  a  want  long 
felt." — Journal  of  Commerce. 

"  It  is  undoubtedly  a  very  important  and  serviceable  work."— Indianapolis 
Journal. 


The  Mystical  Eose ;  oiy  Mary  of 

Nazareth,  the  Lily  of  the  House  of  David.  "  I  am  the  Rose  of 
Sharon  and  the  Lily  of  the  Valley. " —  Cantides.  "  Many  daugh 
ters  have  done  virtuously,  but  thou  excellest  them  all." — Solo 
mon.  "Blessed  art  thou  among  women." — Gabriel.  By 
MARIE  JOSEPHENE.  12mo.  Cloth  extra. 

"  This  elegant  and  charming  book  has  just  appeared ;  it  is  worthy  of  a  place 
in  every  family." — Bellows  Falls  Times. 

"  Its  strong  devotional  character  will  commend  it  to  many  readers."— Illi 
nois  State  Journal. 


Cousin    Alice :    A   Memoir    of 

ALICE    B.   HAVEN.     12mo,  pp.   392,  with  portrait.     Cloth. 

"  This  is  a  record  of  deep  interest,  compiled  with  taste,  skill,  and  judgment." — 
Christian  Times. 

"Exceedingly  interesting," — Eastern  Argus. 

"  Written  with  great  vigor  and  simplicity."— Boston  Post. 


2  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

A  Report  of  the  Debates  and 

Proceedings  in  the  Secret  Sessions  of  the  Conference  Convention 
for  Proposing  Amendments  to  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  held  at  Washington,  D.  C.,  in  February,  A.  D.  1861.  By 
L.  E.  CHITTENDEN,  one  of  the  Delegates.  Large  8vo.  626 
pp.  Cloth. 

"  The  only  authentic  account  of  its  proceedings."— Indianapolis  Journal. 
"  It  sheds  floods  of  light  upon  the  real  causes  and  impulses  of  secession  and 
rebellion."—  Christian  Times. 

"  Will  be  found  an  invaluable  authority."— New  York  Tribune. 


The  Conflict  and  the  Victory  of 

Life.  Memoir  of  MKS.  CAROLINE  P.  KEITH,  Missionary  of 
the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  to  India.  Edited  by  her 
brother,  WILLIAM  C.  TENNE  y.  "  This  is  the  victory  that  over- 
cometh  the  world,  even  our  faith." — St.  John.  "  Thanks  be  to 
God,  who  giveth  us  the  victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 
— St.  Paul.  With  portrait.  12mo. 

"  A  work  of  real  interest  and  instruction." — Buffalo  Courier. 

"Books  like  this  are  valuable  as  incentives  to  good,  as  monuments  of  Chris 
tian  zeal,  and  as  contributions  to  the  practical  history  of  the  Church." — Con- 
yregationalist. 


Sermons  Preached  at  the  Church 

of  St.  Paul  the  Apostle,  New  York,  during  the  year  1864.     Sec 
ond  Edition.     ISmo.    406  pp.     Cloth. 

"They  are  all  stirring  and  vigorous,  and  possess  more  than  usual  merit." — 
Methodist  Protestant. 

"  These  sermons  are  short  and  practical,  and  admirably  calculated  to  im 
prove  and  instruct  those  who  read  them." — Commercial  Advertiser. 


The  Trial.     More  Links  of  the 

Daisy  Chain.     By  the  Author  of  «  The  Heir  of  Reclclyfib."  Two 
volumes  in  one.     Large  12mo.     390  pp.     Cloth. 

"  The  plot  is  well  developed  ;  the  characters  are  finely  sketched ;  it  is  a  capi 
tal  novel." — Providence  Journal. 

"It  is  the  best  novel  we  have  seen  for  many  months."— Montreal  Gazette. 
"  It  is  marked  by  all  the  fascinating  qualities  of  the  works  that  preceded  it. 
*  *    Equal  to  any  of  her  former  novels." — Commercial. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS.  3 

Chateau  Frissae ;  or  Home  Scenes 

in  France.     By  OLIVE  LOGAN,  Authoress  of  "Photographs  of 
Paris  Life,"  etc.,  etc.     Large  12mo.     Cloth. 

"  The  vivacity  and  ease  of  her  style  are  rarely  attained  in  works  of  this  kind, 
and  its  scenes  and  incidents  are  skilfully  wrought." — Chicago  Journal. 
"The  story  is  lively  and  entertaining."— Springfield  Republican. 


The  Management  of  Steel,  in 
cluding  Forging,  Hardening,  Tempering,  Annealing,  Shrinking, 
and  Expansion,  also  the  Case-Hardening  of  Iron.  By  GEORGE 
EDE,  employed  at  the  Royal  Gun  Factories'  Department,  Wool 
wich  Arsenal.  First  American  from  Second  London  Edition. 
12mo.  Cloth. 

"  This  work  must  be  valuable  to  machinists  and  workers  of  Iron  and  Steel." 
— Portland  Courier. 

"  An  instructive  essay ;  it  imparts  a  great  deal  of  valuable  information  con 
nected  with  the  making  of  metal." — Hartford  Courant. 


The  Clever  "Woman  of  the  Fam- 

ily.  By  the  Author  of  "  The  Heir  of  Redclyffe,"  "  Heartsease,'' 
*'  The  Young  Stepmother,"  etc.,  etc.  With  twelve  illustra 
tions.  8vo. 

"  A  charming  story  ;  fresh,  vigorous,  and  lifelike  as  the  works  of  this  author 
always  are.  We  are  inclined  to  think  that  most  readers  will  agree  with  us  in 
pronouncing  it  the  best  which  the  author  has  yet  produced.  "—Portland 
Press. 


"  A  new  story  by  this  popular  writer  la  always  welcome.  The  J  Otow'Wb- 
man  of  the  Family,'  is  one  of  her  best  ;  bright,  sharp,  and  piquant.  "-Hartford 
Courant. 

"  One  of  the  cleverest,  most  genial  novels  of  the  times.  It  is  written  with 
great  force  and  fervor.  The  characters  are  sketched  with  great  SKIII.  —  J.roy 
Times.  _________  __ 

Too  Strange   "Sot   to   be  True. 

A  Tale.  By  Lady  GEORGIANA  FULLEUTON,  Authoress  of  "Ellen 
Middleton,"  "  Ladybird,"  etc.  Three  volumes  in  one.  With 
Illustrations.  8vo. 

"  This  work,  which  is  by  far  the  best  of  the  fair  and  gifted  Author  ess,  is  the 
most  interesting  book  of  fiction  that  has  appeared  for  years.  "—Cairo  News. 

"It  is  a  strange,  exciting,  and  extremely  interesting  tale,  well  and  beauti 
fully  written.  It  is  likely  to  become  one  of  the  most  popular  novels  of  the 
present  day."  —  Indianapolis  Gazette. 

"  A  story  in  which  trtfth  and  fiction  are  skilfully  blended.     It  has  quite    an 
air  of  truth,  and  lovers  of  the  marvellous  will  find  in  it  much  that  is  interesting. 
—  Boston  Recorder. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


What  I  Saw  on  the  West  Coast 

of  South  and  North  America,  and  at  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  By 
II.  WILLIS  BAXLEY,  M.D.  With  numerous  Illustrations.  8vo. 
632  pp.  Cloth. 

"  With  great  power  of  observation,  much  information,  a  rapid  and  graphic 
style,  the  author  presents  a  vivid  and  instructive  picture.  He  is  free  in  his 
strictures,  sweeping  in  his  judgments,  but  his  facts  are  unquestionable,  and  his 
motives  and  his  standard  of  judgment  just." — Albany  Argus. 

"  His  work  will  be  found  to  contain  a  greal  deal  of  valuable  information, 
many  suggestive  reflections,  and  much  graphic  and  interesting  descriptions," — 
Portland  Express. 

The  Conversion  of  the  .Roman 

Empire.  The  Boyle  Lectures  for  the  year  1864.  Delivered  at 
the  Chapel  Royal,  Whitehall,  by  CHARLES  MERIVALE,  B.D., 
Rector  of  Lawford,  Chaplain  to  the  Speaker  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  author  of  "  A  History  of  the  Romans  under  the  Em 
pire."  8vo.  267  pp. 

"  No  man  living  is  better  qualified  to  discuss  the  subject  of  this  volume,  and 
he  has  done  it  with  marked  ability.  He  has  done  it  moreover,  in  the  interest  of 
Christian  truth,  and  manifests  thorough  appreciation  of  the  spiritual  nature  and 
elements  of  Christianity." — Evangelist. 

"The  author  is  admirably  qualified  from  his  historical  studies  to  connect  the 
ology  with  facts.  The  subject  is  a  great  one,  and  it  is  treated  with  candor,  vigor, 
and  abundant  command  of  materials  to  bring  out  its  salient  points." — Boston 
Transcript. 

Christian  Ballads.     By  the  Right 

Rev.  A.  CLEVELAND  COXE,  D.D.,  Bishop  of  Western  New  York. 
Illustrated  by  Jobn  A.  Hows.  1  vol.,  Svo.  14  full  page  en 
gravings,  and  nearly  60  head  and  tail  pieces. 


"  These  ballads  have  gained  for  the  author  an  enviable  distinction ;  this  work 
stands'  almost  without  a  rival." — Christian  Times. 

"  Not  alone  do  they  breathe  a  beautiful  religious  and  Christianlike  spirit, 
there  is  much  real  and  true  poetry  in  them." — llorne,  Journal. 


Mount  Yemon,  and  other  Poems. 

By  HARVEY  RICE.     12mo. 

"  Fresh  and  original  in  style  and  in  thought.  *   *   *  Will  be  read  with  much 
satisfaction." — Cleveland  Leader. 


D.  APPLETOtf  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS.  5 

The    Internal    Revenue    Laws. 

Act  approved  June  30,  1864,  as  amended,  and  the  Act  amenda 
tory  thereof  approved  March  3,  1 865.  With  copious  marginal 
references,  a  complete  Analytical  Index,  and  Tables  of  Taxa 
tion.  Compiled  by  HORACK  DRESSER.  8vo. 


"  An  indispensable  book  for  every  citizen." 

"  An  accurate  and  certainly  a  very  complete  and  convenient  manual." — Con- 
gregationalist. 

Speeches   and    Occasional  Ad- 

dresses.     By  JOHN  A.  Dix.    2vols.,  8vo.    With  portrait.     Cloth. 

"This  collection  is  designed  chiefly  to  make  those  who  are  to  come  after  us 
acquainted  with  the  part  I  have  borne  in  the  national  movement  during  a  quar 
ter  of  a  century  of  extraordinary  activity  and  excitement." — Extract  from  ^Ded 
ication. 

"  General  Dix  has  done  a  good  service  to  American  statesmanship  and  liter 
ature  by  publishing  in  a  collected  form  the  fruits  of  his  ripe  experience  and 
manly  sagacity." — New  York  Tribune. 

The  Classification  of  the  Sciences. 

To  which  are  added  Eeasons  for  Dissenting  from  the  Philosophy 
of  M.  COMTE.  By  HERBERT  SPENCER,  Author  of  "Illustra 
tions  of  Universal  Progress,"  "  Education,"  "  First  Principles," 
"  Essays  :  Moral,  Political,  and  ^Esthetic,"  and  the  "  Principles 
of  Psychology."  12mo. 

"  In  a  brief)  but  clear  manner,  elaborates  a  plan  of  classification." — Hartford 
Courant. 

"  One  of  the  most  original  and  deep  thinkers  of  the  age.  *  *  *  Will  greatly 
assist  all  who  desire  to  study  Mental  Philosophy." — Philadelphia  Press. 

Oiiean  Lamar,  and  Other  Poems, 

by  SARAH  E.  KNOWLES.     12mo.     Cloth. 

"Not  only  lively  and  attractive  with  fancy,  but  it  has  the  excellence  of  be 
ing  pure,  moral,  and  Christian." — Religious  Herald. 

Lyrical  Recreations. 

By  SAMUEL  WARD.     Large  12mo.     Cloth. 

"  There  is  a  wealth  of  beauty  which  discovers  itself  the  more  we  linger  over 
the  book." — Journal  of  Commerce. 

'•  Its  pages  bear  abundant  evidence  of  taste  and  culture." — Springfield  Re 
publican. 


D.  ATPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONa 


Lyra  Anglicana ;  or,  A  Hymnal 

of  Sacred  Poetry.  Selected  from  the  best  English  writers,  and 
arranged  after  the  order  of  the  Apostles'  Creed.  By  the  Rev. 
GEOKGE  T.  HIDER,  M.A. 

11  As  beautiful  and  valuable  a  collection   of  Sacred  Poetry  as  has  ever  ap 
peared." — St.  Louis  Frew. 

"  Will  be  found  very  attractive  from  the  warm  devotional  tone  that  pervades 
it."— New  York  Times. 

"  Much  of  the  poetry  is  not  found  in  American  reprints."—  Gospel  Messen 
ger. 

Lyra  Americana ;  or,  Yerses  of 

Praise  and  Faith,  from  American  Poets.  Selected  and  arranged 
by  the  Rev.  GEORGE  T.  RIDER,  M.A.  12mo. 


"  They  are  collections  of  the  most  beautiful  and  touching  poetic  expressions  of 
devotion."—  The  Chronicle. 

"  The  collection  is  purely  American ;  the  lyrics  are  all  full  of  devotion  and 
praise.  Unusual  taste  has  been  evinced  in  the  selection  of  the  poetry." — Troy 
Times. 

On  Radiation.    The  "  Rede  »  Lee- 

ture,  delivered  in  the  Senate  House  before  the  University  of  Cam 
bridge,  on  Tuesday,  May  16,  1865,  by  JOHN  TYNDALL,  F.R.S., 
Professor  of  Natural  Philosophy  in  the  Royal  Institute  and  in 
the  Royal  School  of  Mines.  Author  of  "  Heat  considered  as  a 
Mode  of  Motion."  12mo.  Cloth. 

Contributions   to   the    Geology 

and  the  Physical  Geography  of  Mexico,  including  a  Geological 
and  Topographical  Map,  with  profiles  of  some  of  the  princi 
pal  mining  districts.  Together  with  a  graphic  description  of 
an  ascent  of  the  volcano  Popocatepetl.  Edited  by  Baron  F. 
W.  YON  EGLOFFSTEIN.  Large  8vo.  .  Illustrated.  Cloth. 


"The  general  interest  excited  on  this  continent  as  well  as  in  Europe  by  late 
political  events  in  Mexico,  where  a  wide  field  for  mining  and  land  speculation 
is  about  to  he  opened  again  to  foreign  industry  and  foreign  capital,  has  induced 
me  to  submit  to  the  public  two  interesting  publications  of  this  highly  favored 
region." — Extract  from  Introduction. 


I).  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


Histoire  de  Jules  Cesar. 


Par  S.  M.  I.  NAPOLEON  III.     Tome  Premier.     8vo.    With  Maps 
and  Portrait. 


"  No  work  has  excited  as  much  attention  as  the  Life  of  Julius  Caesar,  by  the 
Emperor  Napoleon,  which  has  been  so  many  years  in  preparation,  involving  the 
expenditure  of  large  sums  of  money  in  procuring  material  and  examining  lo 
calities." — Miss.  Republican. 

"  We  are  glad  to  see  it  in  this  form,  because  we  get  a  clearer  insight  into  the 
illustrious  author  through  his  own  vernacular.  The  original  gives  the  best  spirit 
of  a  book,  and  it  is  always  to  be  preferred." — Boston  Gazette. 


The   Handbook    of   Dining,  or 

Corpulency  and  Leanness  Scientifically  Considered  ;  comprising 
the  Art  of  Dining  on  Correct  Principles,  Consistent  with  Easy 
Digestion,  the  Avoidance  of  Corpulency,  and  the  Cure  of 
Leanness.  Together  with  special  remarks  on  the  subjects. 
By  BRILL AT-SAVARIN,  author  of  the  "  Physiologie  du  Gout." 
Translated  by  L.  F.  SIMPSON.  12mo.  Cloth. 

I'  This  is  a  book  that  almost  everybody  will  wish  to  read,  as  almost  every  one 
is  either  too  fleshy  or  too  lean,  and  consequently  will  desire  to  see  what  direc 
tions  so  eminent  a  writer  as  Savarin  gives  to  prevent  one  and  cure  the  other. 
The  volume  contains  curious  facts  and  suggestions,  and  some  very  valuable 
ones."— Eastern  Argus. 


Freedom  of  Mind  in  Willing,  or 

Every  Being  that  Wills  a  Creative  First  Cause.     By  ROWLAND 

G.  HAZARD.      12rno,  pp.  455.     Cloth. 

"  It  is  a  very  admirable  work;  a  book  for  thinkers."— Boston  Gazette. 
"  A  valuable  addition  to  the  literature  of  the  subject ;  its  style  is  clear  and 
Us  arguments  both  strong  and  well  put."—  The  Methodist. 


Beatrice.     By  Julia  Kavanagh, 

author  of  "  Nathalie,"  "  Adele,"  "  Queen  Mab,"  etc.,  etc.    Three 
volumes  in  one.     12mo.     Cloth. 

"  This  is  one  of  the  best  novels  published  in  a  long  time.  The  authoress  has 
achieved  a  reputation  second  to  none  in  the  literary  world  as  a  romance 
writer  This  is  her  last  great  effort,  and  it  is  a  remarkably  interesting  one 
Ihe  plot  is  a  candid  embodiment  of  great  ideas  and  action. "—  Troy  Times. 

"  The  scene  is  laid  in  one  of  the  suburbs  of  London.  The  insight  into  cer 
tain  phases  of  social  life  which  it  gives  is  curious.  The  heroine  '  Beatrice '  is  a 
striking  character.  The  plotting  Frenchman  'Gervoise'  is  also  drawn  with 
consummate  art.  In  a  word,  there  is  more  real  sturdy  stuff  in  Beatrice  than  in 
a  score  of  the  current  novels  of  the  day."— Albany  Evening.  Journal. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


Report  of  the  Council   of  Hy- 

giene  and  Public  Health  of  the  Citizens'  Association  of  New 
York  upon  the  Sanitary  Condition  of  the  City.  Published 
with  an  introductory  statement,  by  order  of  the  Council  of 
the  Citizens'  Association.  Large  8vo,  360  pp.  Illustrated 
with  numerous  maps,  plans,  and  sketches.  Cloth. 

"  Is  devoted  to  a  minute  account  of  the  causes  of  disease,  death,  and  mis 
ery,  and  of  the  sanitary  reforms  needful  to  arrest  those  evils."— New  York  Ex 
press. 

"  No  volume  of intenser  interest  has  ever  seen  the  light  in  this  city  than  this 
record  of  the  state  of  things  now  existing.  The  investigations  have  been  most 
thorough."— Ifew  York  Paper. 

"  The  result  is  no  mere  collection  of  statistics,  but  interesting,  deeply  inter 
esting  rehearsals  of  facts." — New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 


Social  Statics;    or,  The  Condi- 

tions  Essential  to  Human  Happiness  Specified,  and  the  first  of 
them  developed.  By  HERBERT  SPENCER.  Author  of  "  Illus 
trations  cf  Progress,"  "  Essays  :  Moral,  Political,  and  Esthe 
tic,"  "  Education,"  "  Principles  of  Biology,"  "  Principles  of 
Psychology,"  etc.  With  a  notice  of  the  author,  and  a  steel 
portrait.  Large  12  mo,  518  pp.  Cloth. 

"  The  topics  of  the  book  will  be  found  to  be  treated  in  a  masterly  manner. 
It  is  a  work  that  thinking  men  will  delight  to  read,  and  one  which  all  would 
profit  by  reading." — Eastern  Argus. 


"  lie  is  a  profound  and  earnest  thinker,  and  possesses  the  rare  faculty  of 
cussing  abstract  questic 
Chicago  Christian  Times. 


discussing^  abstract  questions  in  a  way  to  interest  every  class  of  readers." — 


The  Correlation  and  Conserva 
tion  of  Forces.  A  Series  of  Expositions,  by  Prof.  GROVE,  Prof. 
HELMHOLTZ,  Dr.  MAYER,  Dr.  FARADAY,  Prof.  LIEDIG,  and  Dr. 
CARPENTER,  with  an  Introduction  and  brief  Biographical  No 
tices  of  the  chief  promoters  of  the  new  views,  by  EDWARD  L. 
YOUMANS,  M.  D.  "  The  highest  law  in  physical  science  which 
our  faculties  permit  us  to  perceive,  the  conservation  of  force." 
— Dr.  Faraday.  One  thick  volume,  12mo,  438  pp.  Cloth. 


"  The?e  papers  are  invaluable  to  scientific  men  and  scholars,  and  should 
have  an  extensive  reading." — Troy  Daily  Times. 

"Their  expositions  are  remarkably  free  from  technicalities,  and  are  written 
in  a  style  which  renders  them  suited  for  popular  reading." — Home  Joiirmrl. 

"  Will  be  read  with  profound  attention  by  thoughtful  men."— N.  Y.  Observer. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


Cyclopaedia  of  Commercial  and 

Business  Anecdotes,  comprising  Interesting  Reminiscences  and 
Facts,  Remarkable  Traits  and  Humors,  and  Notable  Sayings, 
Dealings,  Experiences,  and  Witticisms  of  Merchants,  Traders, 
Bankers,  Mercantile  Celebrities,  Millionnaires,  Bargain  Makers, 
etc.,  etc.,  in  all  Ages  and  Countries.  Designed  to  exhibit,  by 
nearly  three  thousand  illustrative  Anecdotes  and  Incidents, 
the  Piquancies  and  Pleasantries  of  Trade,  Commerce,  and 
General  Business  Pursuits.  By  FKAZER  KIRKLAND.  Embel 
lished  with  Portraits  and  Illustrative  Cuts.  Large  8vo.  2 
vols. 

"  It  is  a  most  complete  illustration  of  the  habits  of  thought,  manners,  and 
eccentricities  of  the  leading  business  men  of  the  world,  forcibly  illustrated  by 
anecdotes  remarkably  well  told." — Northwestern  Church. 

"  Will  be  found  a  very  readable  book,  containing  many  rich  and  racy  anec 
dotes." — Hangar  Whig, 

"  A  capital  work,  well  arranged  and  carefully  prepared." — Hunfs  Magazine. 


Essays:    Moral,    Political,    and 

^Esthetic.  By  HERBERT  SPENCER,  author  of  "  Illustrations  of 
Universal  Progress,"  "First  Principles  of  Philosophy," 
"Education,"  "Social  Statics,"  "Elements  of  Biology," 
"  Elements  of  Psychology,"  "  Classification  of  the  Sciences," 
etc.,  etc.  12mo.  Cloth. 

"The  author  is  one  of  the  most  profound  thinkers  of  the  age."— Eastern 
Argus. 

"  A  valuable  addition  to  literature  and  science.    Such  works  do  the  world 
good."— Boston  Gazette. 


Apologia  Pro  Yita  Sua.    Being 

a  Reply  to  the  Pamphlet  entitled,  "  What,  then,  does  Dr.  New- 
man  Mean  ?  "  "  Commit  thy  way  to  the  Lord,  and  trust  in 
Him,  and  He  will  do  it.  And  He  will  bring  forth  thy  justice 
as  the  light  and  thy  judgment  as  the  noonday."  By  JOHN 
.HENRY  NEWMAN,  D.  D.  Large  12mo,  393  pp.  Cloth. 


"  A  more  important  contribution  to  polemical  literature  has  rarely  been 
published." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"  This  is  a  book  of  deep  and  possibly  permanent  interest."— Christian 
Times. 

"  It  is  a  work  which  should  be  read  by  all  who  wish  to  keep  informed  in  the 
Church  matters  of  the  day." — Northwestern  Church. 


10  D.  AFPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

Pelayo.     An  Epic  of  the  Olden 

Moorish  Time,     By  ELIZABETH  T.  PORTER  BEACH.     Illustrated. 
12mo. 


"  I  have  been  charmed  to  perceiVe  how  skilfully  the  author  has  availed  her 
self  of  the  materials  for  poetic  embellishment  furnished  by  the  history  of  that 
romantic  period." — William  C.  Bryant. 

"  It  is  a  story  of  great  interest,  told  in  flowing  verse,  in  which  descriptive 
talent  and  poetic  fervor  are  not  wanting." — Albany  Argus. 

"The  plan  of  the  poem  is  well  formed,  the  details  are  managed  with  con 
siderable  skill,  and  the  poetry  is  characterized  at  once  by  imagination  and  feel 
ing." —  Watchman  and  Reflector. 


At  Anchor :     A   Story  of  our 

Civil  War,  by  an  American.     12mo.     Cloth. 

"  This  is  a  story  of  the  war,  well  written  and  interesting  from  the  beginning 
to  the  close.  Those  who  commence  will  be  sure  to  re,ad  it  through." — Jloxton 
Journal. 

"  A  graceful  and  readable  story  of  flirting  and  fighting,  and  love  and  loy 
al  ty. ' ' — Co  ngrega  tionalist. 

History  of  the  Rise  and  Influence 

of  the  Spirit  of  Rationalism  in  Europe.  By  W.  E.  H.  LECKT, 
M.  A.  2  vols.,  small  8vo.  Cloth. 

"  We  opened  these  volumes,  never  having  heard  the  name  of  the  author, 
and  entii  ely  ignorant  of  his  pretensions  to  a  place  in  English  literature.  We 
closed  them  with  the  conviction  that  Mr.  Lecky  is  one  of  the  most  accom 
plished  writers  and  one  of  the  most  ingenious  thinkers  of  the  time,  and  that  his 

book  deserves  the  highest  commendation  we  can  bestow  upon  it This  book 

well  deserves  to  be  universally  read  and  carefully  studied.  ..In  a  word,  we 
hope  to  see  this  work  take  its  place  among  the  best  literary  productions  of  the 
age." — Edinburgh,  Review. 

An  Introduction  to  the  Devotion- 

al  Study  of  the  IToly  Scriptures.  By  EDWARD  MEYRICK  GOUL- 
BURN,  D.  D.,  Prebendary  of  St.  Paul's,  Chaplain  to  the  Bishop 
of  Oxford,  and  one  of  Her  Majesty's  Chaplains  in  Ordinary, 
Author  of  "  Thoughts  on  Personal  Religion."  From  the 
Seventh  London  Edition.  12mo.  Cloth. 

"I  wish  this  little  Treatise  to  be  regarded  as  part  of  a  large  work 
("Thoughts  on  Personal  Religion  ")  which  has  been  more  recently  published, 
in  which  I  have  attempted  to  give  some  suggestions  for  the  performance  of  re 
ligious  exercises  in  general.  Among  these  the  study  of  the  Holy  Scriptures 
does  not  find  place,  because  I  have  felt  it  to  be  of  such  transcendent  importance 
as  to  require  a  separate  treatise.' — Extract  from  Preface. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


-  ^  ,,,V*AIS 

JAM  I  rrn 

OG4-6P 

f 

LD  2lA-40m-ll,'63 
(E1602slO)476B 

General  Library 
University  of  California 
Berkeley 

i 


• 
•   I 


if 

I 

^ 

.-  iJF/r*rf 


.  fife  \ 


